ANTONY         Thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails.

We’ll speak with thee at sea. At land thou know’st

How much we do o’ercount thee.

POMPEY                                 At land indeed

Thou dost o’ercount me of my father’s house,

But since the cuckoo builds not for himself,

Remain in’t as thou mayst.

LEPIDUS                                 Be pleased to tell us—

For this is from the present—how you take

The offers we have sent you.

CAESAR                                  There’s the point.

ANTONY         Which do not be entreated to, but weigh

What it is worth, embraced.

CAESAR                                  And what may follow,

To try a larger fortune?                    (2.6.24-34)

 

Antony increases the tension a little, pushes back: thou canst not fear us, Pompey, with thy sails. You’re not going to frighten us, intimidate us with this talk of your superiority in sea power. Back off. Remember, too, that we’re far the superior power by land: at land thou know’st how much we do o’ercount thee. Our army vastly outnumbers yours. Pompey’s not backing down though, and he addresses Antony personally, pointedly commenting that at land indeed thou dost o’ercount me of my father’s house. You cheated me out of my father’s house, refusing to pay for it once you’d bought it. But since the cuckoo builds not for himself—it’s bad enough that he’s calling Antony a cuckoo, laying eggs in the nests of other birds, a thug and a thief, but there’s perhaps an echo of cuckold too—remain in it, the house, as thou may’st. Enjoy it while it lasts, which isn’t going to be long. Lepidus gets involved for the first time, in a slightly more conciliatory mode and anxious to preserve a united front; is the implication that Antony makes a move, takes a step towards Pompey, loses his composure momentarily? Lepidus is almost comically polite and diffident: be pleased to tell us—if you would, if you don’t mind—for this is from the present, beside the point of the business at hand, the present, that which most immediately concerns us, rather than this raking up of old grievances and settling of old scores—tell us how you take the offers we have sent you. What’s your response? We’ve made proposals, set out our conditions; it’s over to you now. There’s the point, Caesar chips in on the half line, disingenuously, adding to the sense of a united front, yes, I agree with Lepidus: what’s your response, Pompey? And, almost comically, Antony adds his bit: but, you know, weigh our offer up on its own terms, what’s in it for you; weigh what it is worth if you embrace it. It’s not about our persuading you, let alone begging you to accept our terms, you being entreated to, it’s about you making your own mind up, judging our proposal on its own merits. And what may follow (Caesar moves in, seamlessly; he and Antony are undeniably a smooth double act), to try a larger fortune? You know, Pompey, if you over-reach yourself, if you carry on in this way, with such hubris—well, it won’t go your way. We’re making you an offer you can’t refuse. Take the money and run; quit while you’re ahead.