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