POMPEY         [aside to Menas] Go hang, sir, hang! Tell me of that? Away,

Do as I bid you. [Aloud] Where’s this cup I called for?

MENAS           [aside to Pompey] If for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me,

Rise from thy stool.

POMPEY         [rising] I think thou’rt mad. The matter?

MENAS           I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes.

POMPEY         Thou hast served me with much faith. What’s else to say?

Be jolly, lords.

ANTONY         These quicksands, Lepidus,

Keep off them, for you sink.             (2.7.48-55)

It’s as if the volume is turned up here on Pompey and Menas’s conversation, or the camera zooms in on them, as their whispered exchange is suddenly audible. Go hang, sir, hang! Get away with you, leave off—tell me of that?Away, do as I bid you. Give me a break, leave me alone for a bit. (Just how annoyed or frustrated or incredulous Pompey appears is left wide open here—and it’s not clear, yet, what Menas is trying to talk to him about either.) Where’s this cup I called for? Where’s my drink? Menas has to be hissing through gritted teeth: look, you need to listen to me, hear me out; if for the sake of merit thou wilt hear me, for the sake of all I’ve done for you—I’ve put myself on the line for you, mate—rise from thy stool. Come with me so that we can talk properly. I think thou’rt mad, what are you on about? What’s the matter, what’s going on? What’s the problem, your problem? Menas presses it, reminding Pompey of the bond of service and obligation between them: I have ever held my cap off to thy fortunes, respected you (as a servant or supplicant would, cap in hand); you could return the favour, is perhaps the implication. Yes, thou hast served me with much faith, replies Pompey. What’s else to say? I’m grateful, I know you’ve served me well. But what’s the big deal now, why are you so anxious all of a sudden? Then the focus has to shift again, raising the tension as first Pompey speaks louder, contributing to the general hubbub—be jolly, lords!—are people starting to look at him, at Menas, wondering what’s up? And it’s not Menas who speaks next, but Antony, with Lepidus: these quicksands, Lepidus, keep off them, for you sink. Easy there, as Lepidus—apparently—sways and totters, drunkenly staggers, as sodden and water (or wine)-logged as the treacherous sands which Antony evokes. But are there other betrayals lurking beneath the surface, others about to lose their footing? Every strand of this scene, brilliantly written, can be read as an oblique comment on its other currents and conversations.