ENOBARBUS              What mean you, sir,

To give them this discomfort? Look, they weep,

And I, an ass, am onion-eyed. For shame,

Transform us not to women.

ANTONY                                 Ho, ho, ho,

Now the witch take me if I meant it thus!

Grace grow where those drops fall. My hearty friends,

You take me in too dolorous a sense;

For I spoke to you for your comfort, did desire you

To burn this night with torches. Know, my hearts,

I hope well of tomorrow, and will lead you

Where rather I’ll expect victorious life

Than death and honour. Let’s to supper, come,

And drown consideration.

Exeunt (4.2.33-45)

 

Enobarbus decides enough is enough: Antony’s upsetting everyone, including him, and it’s gone too far; it’s unfair on the servants. (He’s feeling decidedly guilty himself—and Cleopatra’s getting upset too, and that’s too unpredictable.) What mean you, sir, to give them this discomfort? What are you playing at, upsetting the servants like this? (Not good for morale—or order. You’re meant to be the leader!) Look, they weep, and I, an ass, am onion-eyed. You’ve even set me off, idiot that I am, bringing tears to my eyes. Tension defused, a bit, but the message is clear: Antony, get a grip, and stop being so self-indulgent. You’re not doing anyone any favours, least of all yourself. For shame, transform us not to women. Lead, man, and like a man. (A slight steer, perhaps, not to indulge Cleopatra either, to keep her out of this as much as possible, although women here mostly means weepy, over-emotional, weak…)

 

Antony takes the hint. Ho, ho, ho, now the witch take me if I meant it thus! Just kidding! May I be bewitched if I were to say anything of the sort! (Bewitched is another glance at Cleopatra, resisting her influence, perhaps, or trying to.) Let’s pull ourselves together, look on the bright side: grace grow where those drops fell. Grace is herb of grace, rue, pity: have pity on me, rather than weep for me. My hearty friends: you guys! So much heart! You take me in too dolorous a sense: don’t go imagining the worst case scenario, don’t act as if everything’s over. For I spoke to you for your comfort, just trying to offer a bit of reassurance and support—and, after all, I did desire you to burn this night with torches. It’s not all doom and gloom: I want that party! Revels! Know, my hearts, I hope well of tomorrow, I’m thinking positively, haven’t given up yet, not at all, no, fear not. And I will lead you where rather I’ll expect victorious life than death and honour. I’m still planning for a win, a proper victory, rather than going down in glory. I’m planning to live! I’m still your general. So let’s to supper, come, and drown consideration. Enough of this thinking, this solemn contemplation of mortality. Time for food, and drink—plenty of it.

 

There can be pathos in the sheer human effort of pulling himself back from the brink—or else Antony knows it’s all performance, and delusion. But, for the moment, he’s still got it, just, largely thanks to Enobarbus. Cleopatra has said little… and that’s the end of the scene. One other gaudy night to come.