War. I love no colours; and, without all colour Of base 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 Som. Good master Vernon, it is well objected; Ver. Then, for the truth and plainness of the case, Som. Prick not your finger as you pluck it off; Ver. If I, my lord, for my opinion bleed, Som. Well, well, come on: Who else? Plan. Now, Somerset, where is your argument? Som. Here, in my scabbard; meditating that, 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 "I love no colours;] Colours is here used ambiguously for tints and deceits. 8-well objected;] Properly thrown in our way, justly proposed. 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! grace the yeoman, by conversing with him. War. Now, by God's will, thou wrong'st him, Somerset ; We His grandfather was Lionel, duke of Clarence, ? Crestless yeomen-] i. e. those who have no right to arms. He bears him on the place's privilege,] The Temple, being a religious house, was an asylum, a place of exemption, from violence, revenge, and bloodshed. JOHNSON. And, by his treason, stand'st not thou attainted, Suf. Go forward, and be chok'd with thy ambi tion! And so farewell, until I meet thee next. tious Richard. Som. Have with thee, Poole.-Farewell, ambi [Exit. [Exit. Plan. How I am brav'd, and must perforce en dure it! War. This blot, that they object against your house, Shall be wip'd out in the next parliament, 2 Corrupted, and exempt] Exempt for excluded. 3 For your partaker Poole,] Partaker in ancient language signifies one who takes part with another, an accomplice, a confederate. To scourge you for this apprehension:] Apprehension, i. e. opinion. I will not live to be accounted Warwick. Plan. Thanks, gentle sir. Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say, This quarrel will drink blood another day. [Exeunt. SCENE V. The same. A Room in the Tower. Enter MORTIMER, brought in a Chair by Two Mor. Kind keepers of my weak decaying age, These eyes,-like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,- Weak shoulders, overborne with burd'ning grief; And pithless arms, like to a wither'd vine - pursuivants of death,] Pursuivants. The heralds that, forerunning death, proclaim its approach. as drawing to their exigent:] Exigent, end. That droops his sapless branches to the ground.— 1 Keep. Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come: We sent unto the Temple, to his chamber; And answer was return'd that he will come. Mor. Enough; my soul shall then be satisfied.Poor gentleman! his wrong doth equal mine. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reign, (Before whose glory I was great in arms,) This loathsome sequestration have I had; And even since then hath Richard been obscur'd, Depriv'd of honour and inheritance: But now, the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire' of men's miseries, Enter RICHARD PLANTAGenet. 1 Keep. My lord, your loving nephew now is come. Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend? Is he come? Plan. Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly us'd, Your nephew, late-despised Richard, comes. Mor. Direct mine arms, I may embrace his neck, And in his bosom spend my latter gasp: O, tell me, when my lips do touch his cheeks, 7 the arbitrator of despairs, Just death, kind umpire] That is, he that terminates or concludes misery. The expression is harsh, and forced. JOHNSON. late-despised i. e. lately despised. 8 |