Enter Pompey, Menecrates, and Menas, in warlike manner
POMPEY If the great gods be just, they shall assist
The deeds of justest men.
MENECRATES Know, worthy Pompey,
That what they do delay they not deny.
POMPEY Whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays
The thing we sue for.
MENECRATES We, ignorant of ourselves,
Beg often our own harms, which the wise powers
Deny us for our good; so find we profit
By losing of our prayers. (2.1.1-8)
New scene, new act, and new characters: Pompey, the upstart, threatening Roman cohesion and further disrupting any easy Rome/Egypt binary. Perhaps a sense of a new, younger generation, too (that is, not Antony’s generation, let alone Lepidus’s) and he’s already been trailed as a charismatic leader, to whom people (especially young men) are flocking. Menecrates and Menas (who is a silent or ‘ghost’ character here; he might have lines reallocated from Menecrates, or be cut altogether) have been mentioned already too, as famous pirates, so there’s potential here for a contrast between the old-school military discipline formerly embodied by Antony (and now by Octavius Caesar) and something more rough and ready, raffish and disordered, unRoman: these are the men to whom Pompey has allied himself, and with whom he now identifies as he takes on the empire. Here they appear in warlike manner, perhaps wearing armour or at least carrying weapons—but in a modern dress production at least, it won’t be the recognisable regimentals affected by Caesar, medal ribbons and gold braid, but something that says mercenary, scavenger, soldier of fortune. (And in Roman dress, the pirates can have a more steampunk, exotic look; no shiny bronze breastplates here.)
Yet the visuals can deceive, or at least wrong-foot, because these upstarts and outlaws are engaged in a (semi)-philosophical discussion, as Pompey expresses his frustration at the situation. If the great gods be just, they shall assist the deeds of justest men. Right is on my side, he protests; why aren’t I being more successful? This is unexpected, because it’s Pompey who’s been portrayed as the renegade by Octavius Caesar, like Antony (but in his own way) betraying righteous Roman values. There’s a bit of a petulant whine too, though: why aren’t I winning more? It’s not fair! It’s the pirate, Menecrates, who offers wise counsel (particularly effective if he’s looking especially raffish and piratical): patience, my dude. Know, worthy Pompey, that what they do delay they not deny. Good things come to those who wait; just because it’s taking a while doesn’t mean it won’t happen. It won’t happen overnight, but it will happen! The gods are still on your side, yeah? But Pompey’s still frustrated and impatient: whiles we are suitors to their throne, decays the thing we sue for. Prayer and patience and supplication are all very well, but the prize we’re after is getting away from us, it’s falling apart. Menecrates continues to offer stoic advice and consolation, telling Pompey that it’ll all come out right in the end, if only he can be patient and bide his time. The gods know best, really, whereas we, ignorant of ourselves, beg often our own harms. We don’t know what’s good for us, necessarily, and the wise powers deny us the things that we think we want for our own good. So find we profit by losing of our prayers. Our prayers are answered when they’re not, in effect. A philosophical pirate indeed!