Briers, flowers

Titus Andronicus, [2.3.198-203]. Quintus. “What, art thou fallen? What subtle hole is this,/ Whose mouth is covered with rude-growing briers,/ Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood/ As fresh as morning dew distill’d on flowers?/ A very fatal place it seems to me,/ Speak, brother, has thou hurt thee with the fall?”

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