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Shall yield the other in the right opinion.

SOMERSET.

Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:

If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.

PLANTAGENET.

And I.

VERNON.

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.

SOMERSET.

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.

VERNON.

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.

SOMERSET.

Well, well, come on: who else?

LAWYER.

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.

PLANTAGENET.

Now, Somerset, where is your argument?

SOMERSET.

Here in my scabbard, meditating that

Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.

PLANTAGENET.

Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;

For pale they look with fear, as witnessing

The truth on our side.

SOMERSET.

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.

PLANTAGENET.

Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?

SOMERSET.

Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?

PLANTAGENET.

Ay, sharp and piercing, to maintain his truth;

Whiles thy consuming canker eats his falsehood.

SOMERSET.

Well, I 'll find friends to wear my bleeding roses,

That shall maintain what I have said is true,

Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen.

PLANTAGENET.

Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,

I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.

SUFFOLK.

Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet.

PLANTAGENET.

Proud Pole, I will, and scorn both him and thee.

SUFFOLK.

I'll turn my part thereof into thy throat.

SOMERSET.

Away, away, good William de la Pole!

We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.

WARWICK.

Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset;

His grandfather was Lionel Duke of Clarence,

Third son to the third Edward King of England:

Spring crestless yeomen from so deep a root?

PLANTAGENET.

He bears him on the place's privilege,

Or durst not, for his craven heart, say thus.

SOMERSET.

By Him that made me, I'll maintain my words

On any plot of ground in Christendom.

Was not thy father, Richard Earl of Cambridge,

For treason executed in our late king's days?

And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted,

Corrupted, and exempt from ancient gentry?

His trespass yet lives guilty in thy blood;

And, till thou be restored, thou art a yeoman.

PLANTAGENET.

My father was attached, not attainted,

Condemn'd to die for treason, but no traitor;

And that I'll prove on better men than Somerset,

Were growing time once ripen'd to my will.

For your partaker Pole and you yourself,

I'll note you in my book of memory,

To scourge you for this apprehension:

Look to it well and say you are well warn'd.

SOMERSET.

Ay, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;

And know us by these colors for thy foes,

For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.

PLANTAGENET.

And, by my soul, this pale and angry rose,

As cognizance of my blood-drinking hate,

Will I for ever and my faction wear,

Until it wither with me to my grave,

Or flourish to the height of my degree.

SUFFOLK.

Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambition!

And so farewell until I meet thee next.

[Exit.]

SOMERSET.

Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.

[Exit.]

PLANTAGENET.

How I am braved and must perforce endure it!

WARWICK.

This blot that they object against your house

Shall be wiped out in the next parliament

Call'd for the truce of Winchester and Gloucester;

And if thou be not then created York,

I will not live to be accounted Warwick.

Meantime, in signal of my love to thee,

Against proud Somerset and William Pole,

Will I upon thy party wear this rose:

And here I prophesy: this brawl to-day,

Grown to this faction in the Temple-garden,