Whereon to practice your severity. Count. Why, art not thou the man? I am indeed. Count. Then have I substance too. I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here, Your roof were not sufficient to contain it. Count. This is a riddling merchant for the nonce; He will be here, and yet he is not here: Tal. That will I show you presently. He winds a horn. Drums heard; then a peal of ordThe gates being forced, enter Soldiers. nance. How say you, madam? are you now persuaded, These are his substance, sinews, arms, and strength, Count. Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse: I-did not entertain thee as thou art. Tal. Be not dismay'd, fair lady; nor misconstrue The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake But only (with your patience,) that we may Count. With all my heart; and think me honoured To feast so great a warrior in my house. [Exeunt. SCENE IV. LONDON. THE TEMPLE GARDEN. Enter the Earls of Somerset, Suffolk, and Warwick; Richard Plantagenet, Vernon, and another Law yer. Plan. Great lords, and gentlemen, what means this silence? Dare no man answer in a case of truth? Suf. Within the Temple-hall we were too loud; The garden here is more convenient. Plan. Then say at once, If I maintain'd the truth; Or, else, was wrangling Somerset in the error? Som. Judge you, my lord of Warwick, then beWar. Between two hawks, which flies the higher tween us, pitch, Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth, Plan. Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance: Som. And on my side it is so well apparell'd, So clear, so shining, and so evident, That it will glimmer through a blind man's eye. Plan. Since you are tongue-ty'd, and so loath to speak, In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts: Som. Let him that is no coward, nor no flat terer, But dare maintain the party of the truth, Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me. War. I love no colours; and, without all co lour Of hase insinuating flattery, I pluck this white rose, with Plantagenet. Suf. I pluck this red rose, with young Somerset; And say withal, I think he held the right. Ver. Stay, lords, and gentlemen; and pluck no more, Till you conclude that he, upon whose side If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. Plan. And I. Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, I pluck this pale and maiden blossom here, Giving my verdict on the white rose side. Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Lest, bleeding, you do paint the white rose red, And fall on my side so against your will. Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Opinion shall be surgeon to my hurt, And keep me on the side where still I am. Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? Law. Unless my study and my books be false, The argument you held, was wrong in you; [To Somerset. In sign whereof, I pluck a white rose too. Shall die your white rose in a bloody red. Plan. Mean time, your cheeks do counterfeit our roses; For pale they look with fear, as witnessing The truth on our side. Som. No, Plantagenet, 'Tis not for fear; but anger,-that thy cheeks Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our roses; And yet thy tongue will not confess thy error. Plan. Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset? Som. Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet? Plan. Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth; Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood. Som. Well, I'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses, That shall maintain what I have said is true, Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. Suf. Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. Plan. Proud Poole, I will; and scorn both him and thee. Suf. I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat. Som. Away, away, good William De-la-Poole ! We grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset; His grandfather was Lionel duke of Clarence, words On any plot of ground in Christendom: |