APPENDIX 
201 
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, 
Where false Plantagenet dare not be seen. 
Plan. Now, by this maiden blossom in my hand, 
I scorn thee and thy fashion, peevish boy. 
II. iv. 25. 
Plan. 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. 
II. iv. 107. 
War. This blot that they object against your house 
Shall be wip’d out in the next parliament 
Call’d for the truce of Winchester and Gloster; 
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. 
II. iv. 116. 
And pithless arms, like to a wither’d vine 
That droops his sapless branches to the ground. 
II. v. 11. 
Puc. These are the city gates, the gates of Rouen, 
Through which our policy must make a breach : 
Take heed, be wary how you place your words; 
Talk like the vulgar sort of market-men 
That come to gather money for their corn. 
III. ii. 1. 
