_Plan._ Since you are tongue-tied and so loath to speak,   ·abd025· In dumb significants proclaim your thoughts:   [abd026] 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.   ·abd030· _Som._ Let him that is no coward nor no flatterer,   [abd031] 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 colour Of base insinuating flattery   [abd035] 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   ·abd040· The fewest roses are cropp’d from the tree Shall yield the other in the right opinion. _Som._ Good Master Vernon, it is well objected: If I have fewest, I subscribe in silence. _Plan._ And I.   ·abd045· _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,   [abd049] Lest bleeding you do paint the white rose red   ·abd050· 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?   ·abd055· _Law._ Unless my study and my books be false, The argument you held was wrong in you; [_To Somerset._   [abd057] In sign whereof I pluck a white rose too. _Plan._ Now, Somerset, where is your argument? _Som._ Here in my scabbard, meditating that   ·abd060· Shall dye your white rose in a bloody red.   [abd061] _Plan._ Meantime your cheeks do counterfeit our roses;   [abd062] 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   [abd065] 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;   ·abd070· 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, Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. _Plan._ Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand,   ·abd075· I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy.   [abd076] _Suf._ Turn not thy scorns this way, Plantagenet. _Plan._ Proud Pole, 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 Pole!   ·abd080· We grace the yeoman by conversing with him.