CLEOPATRA   You can do better yet; but this is meetly.

ANTONY         Now by my sword—

CLEOPATRA   And target. Still he mends.

But this is not the best. Look, prithee, Charmian,

How this Herculean Roman does become

The carriage of his chafe.

ANTONY                     I’ll leave you, lady.

CLEOPATRA   Courteous lord, one word.

Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it.

Sir, you and I have loved, but there’s not it—

That you know well. Something it is I would—

O, my oblivion is a very Antony,

And I am all forgotten.          (1.3.81-92)

This is Cleopatra at her impossible best/worst: you can do better yet; but this is meetly. Not bad as an opening gambit, well done, but really, average at best. Try harder! He’s riled, swearing in a way that perhaps even suggests violence, now by my sword! Hand on the hilt, perhaps, don’t tempt me, woman. Not worried: and target, she completes the oath, first of all making him sound like a mere braggart soldier or braving duellist or even just a roaring boy, a loudmouth lad, rather than a Roman general and triumvir. But also a target is, by this time, very old-fashioned and also rather small, it’s a little round shield. Not wholly inappropriate for the Roman, but it is silly for the Jacobean leading man, and in conjunction with sword, it’s perhaps indirectly emasculating. Still, he mends; he’s trying, he will do better if he keeps at it. But this is not the best. Poor chap, he deserves our pity, let’s keep humouring him. Look, prithee, Charmian, how this Herculean Roman does become the carriage of his chafe. First, she’s ignoring Antony pointedly, talking to Charmian instead, Second, she’s mocking Antony’s familial claim to be descended from the demi-god Hercules. Third, she’s praising him, sort of, for putting on a show of passion, for being really quite believable in his anger because he’s moving, and in particular walking, in the right way, stalking like a tyrant, perhaps, or with the extravagant angry gestures associated with even older character types, like Herod in the medieval mystery plays. (Different character types in early modern plays had different walks and motions.) Antony’s doing everything he should be doing to perform anger and frustration, but she’s mocking him with faint praise, saying he’s just going through the motions. I don’t believe a word you say, she’s saying, but well done, anyway.

I’ll leave you, lady, he manages to say. And, just like that, Cleopatra turns into this wistful, vulnerable creature, speaking with a kind of fear. (Obviously it can be played angry and sarcastic, but a sudden shift is more effective, I think.) Courteous lord, one word. She tells the truth, and she demonstrates that she does understand the situation, and that he has no choice, or near enough. Sir, you and I must part, but that’s not it. That’s not the thing that’s getting to me. Sir, you and I have loved, but there’s not it—that you know well. And they can smile at each other, relax slightly, perhaps. My word we’ve loved. (The fall into monosyllables is interesting, it seems to bring sincerity and directness, and also a particular kind of intimacy; more words fit into the line, into every utterance. Romeo and Juliet often speak to each other in monosyllabic words; so do Benedick and Beatrice, when they declare themselves.) Something it is I would—I have so much I want to say. But I can’t find the words, I forget myself. And then a rueful flash of the old sarcasm: o my oblivion, my inability to remember, is a very Antony, is like you, old man, old lover, thinking you can turn your back on me and just walk away. And I am all forgotten—I can’t remember anything, and you’ll forget me too. (Wonderfully ambiguous, wonderfully Cleopatra, and hard not to think of a touch of Sondheim too: You said you loved me, or were you just being kind? Or am I losing my mind? From Follies…)