Valeria. In truth, there's wondrous things spoke of him.
Men. Wondrous, ay, I warrant you…
Vir. The gods grant them true!
Vol. True? Pow wow!
Men. True? I'll be sworn they are true. Where's he wounded? [To the Tribunes, who come forward.] Marcius is coming home: he has—more cause to be—PROUD.—Where is he wounded?
Vol. I' the shoulder, and i' the left arm: There will be large cicatrices to shew the people, when he shall stand FOR HIS PLACE. He received in the repulse of Tarquin seven hurts i' the body.
Men. One in the neck, and two in the thigh,—there's nine that I know.
Vol. He had, before this last expedition, twenty-five wounds upon him.
Men. Now it's twenty-seven: every gash was an enemy's grave.
[Of course there is no satire intended here at all. This is a Poet who does not know what he is about.]