Junius Brutus

All tongues speak of him, and the bleared sights
Are spectacled to see himSynecdoche. Your prattling nurse
Into a rapture lets her baby cry
While she chats him; the kitchen malkin pins
Her richest lockram ’bout her reechy neck,
Clamb’ring the walls to eye him; stalls, bulks, windows
Are smother’d up, leads fill’d,
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Menenius
Worthy Cominius, speak.
 Coriolanus rises and offers to go away.
Nay, keep your place.
First Senator
Sit, Coriolanus. Never shame to hear
What you have nobly done.

I had rather have my wounds to heal again
Than hear say how I got them.

Coriolanus
Your Honors,
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With a proud heart he wore his humble weeds.
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