Som. No Plantagenet: Tis not for feare, but anger, that thy cheekes Blush for pure shame, to counterfeit our Roses, And yet thy tongue will not confesse thy error
Yorke. Hath not thy Rose a Canker, Somerset? Som. Hath not thy Rose a Thorne, Plantagenet? Yorke. I, sharpe and piercing to maintaine his truth, Whiles thy consuming Canker eates his falsehood
Som. Well, Ile find friends to weare my bleeding Roses, That shall maintaine what I haue said is true, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seene
Yorke. Now by this Maiden Blossome in my hand, I scorne thee and thy fashion, peeuish Boy
Suff. Turne not thy scornes this way, Plantagenet
Yorke. Prowd Poole, I will, and scorne both him and thee
Suff. Ile turne my part thereof into thy throat
Som. Away, away, good William de la Poole, We grace the Yeoman, by conuersing with him
Warw. Now by Gods will thou wrong'st him, Somerset: His Grandfather was Lyonel Duke of Clarence, Third Sonne to the third Edward King of England: Spring Crestlesse Yeomen from so deepe a Root? Yorke. He beares him on the place's Priuiledge, Or durst not for his crauen heart say thus
Som. By him that made me, Ile maintaine my words On any Plot of Ground in Christendome. Was not thy Father, Richard, Earle of Cambridge, For Treason executed in our late Kings dayes? And by his Treason, stand'st not thou attainted, Corrupted, and exempt from ancient Gentry? His Trespas yet liues guiltie in thy blood, And till thou be restor'd, thou art a Yeoman
Yorke. My Father was attached, not attainted, Condemn'd to dye for Treason, but no Traytor; And that Ile proue on better men then Somerset, Were growing time once ripened to my will. For your partaker Poole, and you your selfe, Ile note you in my Booke of Memorie, To scourge you for this apprehension: Looke to it well, and say you are well warn'd
Som. Ah, thou shalt finde vs ready for thee still: And know vs by these Colours for thy Foes, For these, my friends in spight of thee shall weare
Yorke. And by my Soule, this pale and angry Rose, As Cognizance of my blood-drinking hate, Will I for euer, and my Faction weare, Vntill it wither with me to my Graue, Or flourish to the height of my Degree
Suff. Goe forward, and be choak'd with thy ambition: And so farwell, vntill I meet thee next. Enter.
Som. Haue with thee Poole: Farwell ambitious Richard. Enter.
Yorke. How I am brau'd, and must perforce endure it? Warw. This blot that they obiect against your House, Shall be whipt out in the next Parliament, Call'd for the Truce of Winchester and Gloucester: And if thou be not then created Yorke, I will not liue to be accounted Warwicke. Meane time, in signall of my loue to thee, Against prowd Somerset, and William Poole, Will I vpon thy partie weare this Rose. And here I prophecie: this brawle to day, Growne to this faction in the Temple Garden, Shall send betweene the Red-Rose and the White, A thousand Soules to Death and deadly Night
Yorke. Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you, That you on my behalfe would pluck a Flower
Ver. In your behalfe still will I weare the same
Lawyer. And so will I
Yorke. Thankes gentle. Come, let vs foure to Dinner: I dare say, This Quarrell will drinke Blood another day.
Enter Mortimer, brought in a Chayre, and Iaylors.