CLEOPATRA   What, was he sad or merry?

ALEXAS           Like to the time o’th’ year between the extremes

Of hot and cold, he was nor sad nor merry.

CLEOPATRA   O well divided disposition! Note him,

Note him, good Charmian, ’tis the man; but note him.

He was not sad, for he would shine on those

That make their looks by his; he was not merry,

Which seemed to tell them his remembrance lay

In Egypt with his joy; but between both.

O heavenly mingle! Be’st thou sad or merry,

The violence of either thee becomes;

So does it no man else.         (1.5.49-60)

Cleopatra is interested above all in emotion, in Antony’s mood, for its own sake (perhaps) and also for what it might suggest about his feelings for her. Was he merry or sad when he spoke to Alexas about her? Merry at not being with her or sad at not being with her? Or, merry at the very thought of her, even? Whatever Alexas answers, she’ll have an interpretation, and Alexas knows this of old and keeps all the options open: Antony was nor sad nor merry, neither, but a mixture or midway point between the two, like to the time o’th’ year between the extremes of hot and cold. Antony is temperate, that is, well-mixed and well-ordered in his humours and his disposition; many in Shakespeare’s audience would recognise Aristotle’s ideal here, and his account of the virtues as the means between extremes. (It’s perhaps a glance back at what Antony himself said of the dead Brutus at the end of Julius Caesar: ‘His life was gentle, and the elements | So mix’d in him that Nature might stand up | And say to all the world ‘This was a man!’) It also makes Antony a man of autumn, of middle age (charitably) and also of plenty and bounty, harvest and vintage. O well divided disposition, responds Cleopatra, who clearly knows her Aristotle (and why not?) She interprets this partly in terms of Antony the leader, an example among men: note him, note him, she tells Charmian (and also, ’tis the man, oh, it’s just like him!) He was not sad, for he would shine on those that make their looks by his. If he were too serious and sombre, then he’d depress his followers, bring them down when he should be inspiring them. But at the same time he was not merry, which seemed to tell them his remembrance lay in Egypt with his joy—quite proper that he wasn’t too cheerful, because he needed to make clear to all his followers that his heart was still in Egypt with ME, his joy, and that I was CONSTANTLY in his thoughts. And he managed to achieve this amazing, finely-balanced blend between both! O heavenly mingle! What a man! And, after all—and here she addresses Antony directly, having seen him so clearly in her mind’s eye as she imagines and conjures his emotional state—be’st thou sad or merry, the violence of either thee becomes. When you’re properly sad or properly merry too, expressing the extremes of either of those emotions, then you’re perfect too, your expressions of joy and sorrow are their epitomes. So does it no man else. No one is as well balanced, as exquisite in their passions as is Antony.