And in submission will attend on her.
Will not your honours bear me company?
Bedford
No, truly; it is more than manners will:
And I have heard it said, unbidden guests
Are often welcomest when they are gone.
Talbot
Well then, alone, since there’s no remedy,
I mean to prove this lady’s courtesy.
Come hither, captain.
Whispers
You perceive my mind?
Captain
I do, my lord, and mean accordingly.
Exeunt
SCENE III. AUVERGNE. THE COUNTESS’S CASTLE.
Enter the Countess and her Porter
Countess of Auvergne
Porter, remember what I gave in charge;
And when you have done so, bring the keys to me.
Porter
Madam, I will.
Exit
Countess of Auvergne
The plot is laid: if all things fall out right,
I shall as famous be by this exploit
As Scythian Tomyris by Cyrus’ death.
Great is the rumor of this dreadful knight,
And his achievements of no less account:
Fain would mine eyes be witness with mine ears,
To give their censure of these rare reports.
Enter Messenger and Talbot
Messenger
Madam,
According as your ladyship desired,
By message craved, so is Lord Talbot come.
Countess of Auvergne
And he is welcome. What! is this the man?
Messenger
Madam, it is.
Countess of Auvergne
Is this the scourge of France?
Is this the Talbot, so much fear’d abroad
That with his name the mothers still their babes?
I see report is fabulous and false:
I thought I should have seen some Hercules,
A second Hector, for his grim aspect,
And large proportion of his strong-knit limbs.
Alas, this is a child, a silly dwarf!
It cannot be this weak and writhled shrimp
Should strike such terror to his enemies.
Talbot
Madam, I have been bold to trouble you;
But since your ladyship is not at leisure,
I’ll sort some other time to visit you.
Countess of Auvergne
What means he now? Go ask him whither he goes.
Messenger
Stay, my Lord Talbot; for my lady craves
To know the cause of your abrupt departure.
Talbot
Marry, for that she’s in a wrong belief,
I go to certify her Talbot’s here.
Re-enter Porter with keys
Countess of Auvergne
If thou be he, then art thou prisoner.
Talbot
Prisoner! to whom?
Countess of Auvergne
To me, blood-thirsty lord;
And for that cause I trained thee to my house.
Long time thy shadow hath been thrall to me,
For in my gallery thy picture hangs:
But now the substance shall endure the like,
And I will chain these legs and arms of thine,
That hast by tyranny these many years
Wasted our country, slain our citizens
And sent our sons and husbands captivate.
Talbot
Ha, ha, ha!
Countess of Auvergne
Laughest thou, wretch? thy mirth shall turn to moan.
Talbot
I laugh to see your ladyship so fond
To think that you have aught but Talbot’s shadow
Whereon to practise your severity.
Countess of Auvergne
Why, art not thou the man?
Talbot
I am indeed.
Countess of Auvergne
Then have I substance too.
Talbot
No, no, I am but shadow of myself:
You are deceived, my substance is not here;
For what you see is but the smallest part
And least proportion of humanity:
I tell you, madam, were the whole frame here,
It is of such a spacious lofty pitch,
Your roof were not sufficient to contain’t.
Countess of Auvergne
This is a riddling merchant for the nonce;
He will be here, and yet he is not here:
How can these contrarieties agree?
Talbot
That will I show you presently.
Winds his horn. Drums strike up: a peal of ordnance. Enter soldiers
How say you, madam? are you now persuaded
That Talbot is but shadow of himself?
These are his substance, sinews, arms and strength,
With which he yoketh your rebellious necks,
Razeth your cities and subverts your towns
And in a moment makes them desolate.
Countess of Auvergne
Victorious Talbot! pardon my abuse:
I find thou art no less than fame hath bruited
And more than may be gather’d by thy shape.
Let my presumption not provoke thy wrath;
For I am sorry that with reverence
I did not entertain thee as thou art.
Talbot
Be not dismay’d, fair lady; nor misconstrue
The mind of Talbot, as you did mistake
The outward composition of his body.
What you have done hath not offended me;
Nor other satisfaction do I crave,
But only, with your patience, that we may
Taste of your wine and see what cates you have;
For soldiers’ stomachs always serve them well.
Countess of Auvergne
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 Lawyer
Richard
Plantagenet
Great lords and gentlemen, what means this silence?
Dare no man answer in a case of truth?
Suffolk
Within the Temple-hall we were too loud;
The garden here is more convenient.
Richard
Plantagenet
Then say at once if I maintain’d the truth;
Or else was wrangling Somerset in the error?
Suffolk
Faith, I have been a truant in the law,
And never yet could frame my will to it;
And therefore frame the law unto my will.
Somerset
Judge you, my Lord of Warwick, then, between us.
Warwick
Between two hawks, which flies the higher pitch;
Between two dogs, which hath the deeper mouth;
Between two blades, which bears the better temper:
Between two horses, which doth bear him best;
Between two girls, which hath the merriest eye;
I have perhaps some shallow spirit of judgement;
But in these nice sharp quillets of the law,
Good faith, I am no wiser than a daw.
Richard
Plantagenet
Tut, tut, here is a mannerly forbearance:
The truth appears so naked on my side
That any purblind eye may find it out.
Somerset
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.
Richard
Plantagenet
Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,
In dumb si
gnificants proclaim your thoughts:
Let him that is a true-born gentleman
And stands upon the honour of his birth,
If he suppose that I have pleaded truth,
From off this brier pluck a white rose with me.
Somerset
Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,
But dare maintain the party of the truth,
Pluck a red rose from off this thorn with me.
Warwick
I love no colours, and without all colour
Of base insinuating flattery
I pluck this white rose with Plantagenet.
Suffolk
I pluck this red rose with young Somerset
And say withal I think he held the right.
Vernon
Stay, lords and gentlemen, and pluck no more,
Till you conclude that he upon whose side
The fewest roses are cropp’d from the tree
Shall yield the other in the right opinion.
Somerset
Good Master Vernon, it is well objected:
If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence.
Richard
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.
Richard
Plantagenet
Now, Somerset, where is your argument?
Somerset
Here in my scabbard, meditating that
Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.
Richard
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.
Richard
Plantagenet
Hath not thy rose a canker, Somerset?
Somerset
Hath not thy rose a thorn, Plantagenet?
Richard
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.
Richard
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.
Richard
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?
Richard
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.
Richard
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
Ah, thou shalt find us ready for thee still;
And know us by these colours for thy foes,
For these my friends in spite of thee shall wear.
Richard
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 choked with thy ambition!
And so farewell until I meet thee next.
Exit
Somerset
Have with thee, Pole. Farewell, ambitious Richard.
Exit
Richard
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,
Shall send between the red rose and the white
A thousand souls to death and deadly night.
Richard
Plantagenet
Good Master Vernon, I am bound to you,
That you on my behalf would pluck a flower.
Vernon
In your behalf still will I wear the same.
Lawyer
And so will I.
Richard
Plantagenet
Thanks, gentle sir.
Come, let us four to dinner: I dare say
This quarrel will drink blood another day.
Exeunt
SCENE V. THE TOWER OF LONDON.
Enter Mortimer, brought in a chair, and Gaolers
Mortimer
Kind keepers of my weak decaying age,
Let dying Mortimer here rest himself.
Even like a man new haled from the rack,
So fare my limbs with long imprisonment.
And these grey locks, the pursuivants of death,
Nestor-like aged in an age of care,
Argue the end of Edmund Mortimer.
These eyes, like lamps whose wasting oil is spent,
Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent;
Weak shoulders, overborne with burthening grief,
And pithless arms, like to a
wither’d vine
That droops his sapless branches to the ground;
Yet are these feet, whose strengthless stay is numb,
Unable to support this lump of clay,
Swift-winged with desire to get a grave,
As witting I no other comfort have.
But tell me, keeper, will my nephew come?
First Gaoler
Richard Plantagenet, my lord, will come:
We sent unto the Temple, unto his chamber;
And answer was return’d that he will come.
Mortimer
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 obscured,
Deprived of honour and inheritance.
But now the arbitrator of despairs,
Just death, kind umpire of men’s miseries,
With sweet enlargement doth dismiss me hence:
I would his troubles likewise were expired,
That so he might recover what was lost.
Enter Richard Plantagenet
First Gaoler
My lord, your loving nephew now is come.
Mortimer
Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?
Richard
Plantagenet
Ay, noble uncle, thus ignobly used,
Your nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
Mortimer
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,
That I may kindly give one fainting kiss.
And now declare, sweet stem from York’s great stock,
Why didst thou say, of late thou wert despised?
Richard
Plantagenet
First, lean thine aged back against mine arm;
And, in that ease, I’ll tell thee my disease.
This day, in argument upon a case,
Some words there grew ’twixt Somerset and me;
Among which terms he used his lavish tongue
And did upbraid me with my father’s death:
Which obloquy set bars before my tongue,
Else with the like I had requited him.
Therefore, good uncle, for my father’s sake,
In honour of a true Plantagenet
And for alliance sake, declare the cause
My father, Earl of Cambridge, lost his head.
Mortimer
That cause, fair nephew, that imprison’d me
And hath detain’d me all my flowering youth
Within a loathsome dungeon, there to pine,
Was cursed instrument of his decease.
Richard
Plantagenet
Discover more at large what cause that was,
For I am ignorant and cannot guess.
Mortimer
I will, if that my fading breath permit
And death approach not ere my tale be done.
Complete Plays, The Page 199
