ENOBARBUS  Spoke you of Caesar? How, the nonpareil?

AGRIPPA         O, Antony, O, thou Arabian bird!

ENOBARBUS  Would you praise Caesar, say ‘Caesar’; go no further.

AGRIPPA         Indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises.

ENOBARBUS  But he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony—

Hoo! Hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets, cannot

Think, speak, cast, write, sing, number—hoo!—

His love to Antony. But as for Caesar—

Kneel down, kneel down, and wonder.

AGRIPPA         Both he loves.

ENOBARBUS  They are his shards, and he their beetle.

[Trumpet within].

So,

This is to horse. Adieu, noble Agrippa.

AGRIPPA         Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell.           (3.2.11-22)

 

The mocking of Lepidus’s flattery towards Caesar and Antony continues, but it’s also, indirectly, mocking Caesar and Antony themselves: who could be so foolish as to think that these two are all they’re cracked up to be? But, says Enobarbus, with the breathy eagerness of someone who’s just caught the name of their crush, Spoke you of Caesar? were you talking about Caesar? what were you saying? How (some editions have hoo! wow!) he’s the nonpareil, incomparable, unequalled. But Agrippa’s man is Antony: O Antony, O thou Arabian bird! The o, o can be delivered with full force moaning, in comparing Antony to the phoenix, unique, extraordinary. If you’re going to praise Caesar, counters Enobarbus, would you praise Caesar, it’s enough just to say ‘Caesar’, that mere word says it all: go no further. Agrippa gives a commentary-like reminder that they’re still talking about Lepidus, ventriloquizing him in effect: indeed, he plied them both with excellent praises. And Agrippa might be trying to bring the joke to a conclusion, but Enobarbus is still in full flight: but he loves Caesar best; yet he loves Antony—so difficult, clutching his head, clutching his heart, sighing. Hoo! wow, sigh, exhalation, groan. Hearts, tongues, figures, scribes, bards, poets cannot think, speak, cast, write, sing, number—hoo! wowee, groan, sigh etc.—his love to Antony. (Each of the nouns corresponds to a verb, as if this were a sonnet. It was, of course, Enobarbus himself who wrote, spoke, sang the great erotic hymn of praise to Cleopatra, which faltered only when it came to describing her person, which beggared all description. He’s in some ways mocking himself too.) But as for Caesar—and there can be a speaking pause: is he going to go even more over the top here? no: merely kneel down, kneel down, and wonder. Agrippa should get a laugh too on his bathetic both he loves. But Enobarbus makes it even more bathetically ridiculous with his final pronouncement that Antony and Caesar are Lepidus’s shards, and he their beetle. It’s partly because beetle is inherently ridiculous as a word but more because a shard is not a splinter or a fragment but rather a cowpat, out of which beetles emerged. Lepidus is the ungainly, unlovely insect launching himself into these absurd flights of eloquence and praise out of manure. Really, Enobarbus is saying, they’re not all that, they’re just men. Lepidus is making such a fool of himself.

 

But there’s a trumpet call within, offstage, and Enobarbus recognises it for what it is, a summons: so, this is to horse. Time to go, we’re off. Adieu, noble Agrippa; this little double act is at an end, old friend. Good fortune, worthy soldier, and farewell, he replies. They’re back on duty, the still-loyal deputies to their respective generals.