CLEOPATRA   The gods confound thee! Dost thou hold there still?

MESSENGER  Should I lie, madam?

CLEOPATRA                                       O, I would thou didst,

So half my Egypt were submerged and made

A cistern for scaled snakes. Go, get thee hence.

Hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, to me

Thou wouldst appear most ugly. He is married?

MESSENGER  I crave your highness’ pardon.

CLEOPATRA                                       He is married?

MESSENGER  Take no offence that I would not offend you.

To punish me for what you make me do

Seems much unequal. He’s married to Octavia.    (2.5.93-102)

Damn you, Cleopatra says, the gods confound thee, destroy you utterly! Dost thou hold there still? Are you still going to stick to your story, keep giving the same answer? Should I lie, madam? the messenger replies, not a little aggrieved. Well, what am I meant to do? O, I would thou didst, she retorts, passionately, I wish that you were lying with every fibre of my being, even if it meant that half my Egypt were submerged and made a cistern for scaled snakes. I’d bargain with half my territory, see it flooded and made uninhabitable—except by serpents, a snaky lido—if it meant that you weren’t now telling the truth, if it meant that Antony was not, in fact, married. Go, get thee hence; go on, piss off. And the degree to which she’s rattled—devastated—is shown in her petty, altogether unnecessary insult as the messenger, with a sigh of relief, turns to go: hadst thou Narcissus in thy face, if you were the most beautiful man in the world, the most beautiful man that’s ever been, to me thou woulds’t appear most ugly. Because of what you’ve said and done, you’re the ugliest of all men to me. (There’s a more serious and striking  subtext here: if Antony is married, if Antony doesn’t love her anymore, then Cleopatra won’t ever be able to see beauty in the world ever again.) But she can’t resist asking again, incredulous, desperate: he is married? I crave your highness’ pardon, the messenger responds, with tremendous forbearance, yes, I’m sorry (but it’s also, really, can I go now please?)—but she’s not listening, can only repeat, near compulsively, he is married? The messenger has now really had enough, and is particularly fed up with the completely illogical nature of this encounter; he’s quite assertive. Take no offence that I would not offend you: what, are you now getting upset that I won’t lie to you, that I won’t tell you over and over again? Really? And, furthermore, to punish me for what you make me do seems much unequal. It’s totally not fair that you’ve actually assaulted me for simply doing what you’d asked me to do, delivering a message which you happen not to like, over and over again. He’s married to Octavia. That’s a fact, that’s the truth, just deal with it. Not my problem.