Enter Caesar, Antony, Lepidus, and Octavia

ANTONY         [to Caesar] No further, sir.

CAESAR          You take from me a great part of myself.

Use me well in’t. Sister, prove such a wife

As my thoughts make thee, and as my farthest bond

Shall pass on thy approof. Most noble Antony,

Let not the piece of virtue which is set

Betwixt us as the cement of our love

To keep it builded, be the ram to batter

The fortress of it; for far better might we

Have loved without this mean if on both parts

This be not cherished.          (3.2.23-33)

This is the scene that Enobarbus described to Agrippa, the parting of Antony and Octavia from Caesar and Lepidus, and it’s still ongoing. (Lepidus may be looking decidedly seedy, although it can unbalance the scene if he’s too comically pathetic a presence here.) No further sir, says Antony to Caesar; really, it’s time for you to go, you can’t tag along any further (it’s also, OK, we’ve got the point, you can stop telling us what to do, going on and on about it). We’ve really got to get on the road. Caesar’s response is interestingly complex, psychologically and emotionally. You take from me a great part of myself; yes, he is extraordinarily close to his sister. But, use me well in it? That’s an odd turn, seeing Antony’s future treatment of his now wife primarily in terms of Antony’s attitude towards himself, Caesar? He’s being realistic in acknowledging that this is above all a political match, a hoped-for solution to a political problem—but his strong attachment to his sister can’t be entirely set aside. And there’s even an element of threat, saying, if you don’t treat her well, you’ll have me to answer to, because any slight or neglect you show her, you do to me. He also, inevitably, has advice for Octavia (Caesar likes to be in control; he hates the unpredictability of other people and their emotions). Sister, prove such a wife as my thoughts make thee—please live up to my expectations and ideals here—and as my farthest bond shall pass on thy approof. Don’t let me down: my farthest bond is his most extreme wager, the greatest security he could offer; he must be able to stake everything on her conduct, her unimpeachable reputation. Please stay the same, stable and predictable, is one of the things he’s saying.

And of course he has a warning for Antony, most noble Antony (there can be a bit of bite there: live up to noble, ok?) don’t screw this up. More particularly, let not the piece of virtue—Octavia—which is set betwixt us as the cement of our love to keep it builded be the ram to batter the fortress of it. Everything is riding on this marriage, and therefore, specifically, on how you treat your wife, Octavia, my sister. She’s our bond; she’s the glue that’s holding us together, and if you mess things up, then she will become the thing that destroys us, the ram that batters the fortress of the alliance between us rather the mortar which has built it. (It’s not a particularly happy metaphor for a brother to use of his apparently beloved sister: she can be either cement or a battering ram, and either way, she’s got to be perfect, exemplary, a piece of virtue. And silent, obviously.) Caesar might even have slightly cold feet, confronted in this moment with the risk he’s taking, with the single point of failure he’s just articulated: far better might we have loved without this mean if on both parts this be not cherished. All the eggs are in one basket now, Octavia, the marriage, this mean; that means that it has to be kept safe and maintained, and if it’s not, well, it’d be better that we hadn’t set this up in the first place. The we he refers to is presumably himself and Antony, while the both parts seem to be Antony and Octavia? It’s up to you now, he has to concede; Caesar can’t control this bit, as much as he’d like to.