Synecdoche

Vaux, calling as to Officers offstage
Prepare there!
The Duke is coming. See the barge be ready,
And fit it with such furniture as suits
The greatness of his person.
Buckingham
Nay, Sir Nicholas,
Let it alone. My state now will but mock me.Metonymy & Personification
When I came hither,
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The forest walks are wide and spacious,
And many unfrequented plots there are,Hyperbaton
Fitted by kind for rape and villainy.
Single you thither then this dainty doe,Alliteration & Metaphor
And strike her home by force, if not by words.

The Emperor’s court is like the house of Fame,
The palace full of tongues,
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Cassius
But what of Cicero? Shall we sound him?
I think he will stand very strong with us.
Casca
Let us not leave him out.
Cinna
No, by no means.
Metellus Cimber
O, let us have him, for his silver hairsSynecdoche
Will purchase us a good opinion,
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Friendship is constant in all other things
Save in the office and affairs of love.Hendiadys
Therefore all hearts in love use their own tongues.Synecdoche
Let every eye negotiate for itself,Synecdoche
And trust no agent; for beauty is a witch
Against whose charms faith melteth into bloodMetaphor.
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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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Suffolk
How is the King employed?
Chamberlain
I left him private,
Full of sad thoughts and troubles.
Norfolk
What’s the cause?
Chamberlain
It seems the marriage with his brother’s wife
Has crept too near his conscience.
Suffolk
No, his conscience
Has crept too near another lady.
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Ay, ay, Antipholus, look strange and frown.
Some other mistress hath thy sweet aspects.
I am not Adriana, nor thy wife.The time was onceHyperbaton when thou unurged wouldst vowAnastrophe
That never words were music to thine ear,
That never object pleasing in thine eye,
That never touch well welcome to thy hand,
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Adriana
How ill agrees it with your gravity
To counterfeit thus grossly with your slave,
Abetting him to thwart me in my mood.
Be it my wrong you are from me exempt,
But wrong not that wrong with a more contempt.

This is the fairy land. O spite of spites!
We talk with goblins, owls,
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Bassanio
Why then you must. But hear thee, Gratiano,
Thou art too wild, too rude and bold of voice—
Parts that become thee happily enough,
And in such eyes as oursSynecdoche appear not faults.
But where thou art not known—why, there they show
Something too liberal. Pray thee take pain
To allay with some cold drops of modesty
PersonificationThy skipping spirit,
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Anne
Not for that neither.Anapodoton Here’s the pang that pinches:
His Highness having lived so long with herAlliteration, and she
So good a lady that no tongue could ever
Pronounce dishonor of her—Parenthesesby my life,
She never knew harm-doing!—O, now,
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