MENENIUS: I'll undertake 't: I think he'll hear me. Yet, to bite his lip And hum at good Cominius, much unhearts me. He was not taken well; he had not dined: The veins unfill'd, our blood is cold, and then We pout upon the morning, are unapt To give or to forgive; but when we have stuff'd These and these conveyances of our blood With wine and feeding, we have suppler souls Than in our priest-like fasts: therefore I'll watch him Till he be dieted to my request, And then I'll set upon him.