ANTONY         That which is now a horse even with a thought

The rack dislimns, and makes it indistinct

As water is in water.

EROS                                       It does, my lord.

ANTONY         My good knave Eros, now thy captain is

Even such a body. Here I am Antony,

Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave.       (4.15.9-14)

The clouds continue to shift, in Antony’s imagination and in the imaginations of the audience: now a horse (a brief flash back to another life, when Cleopatra fancied herself Antony’s horse…)—but even with a thought the rack dislimns, the clouds shift again, dissolve. For it to dislimn makes it an image, a painting (which is limned) which blurs, undoes itself, and in particular loses its outline. All of those distinctive shapes—dragon, bear, lion, horse, mountain, crag, citadel, trees—discerned in the clouds, become as indistinct as water is in water. Melting, dissolving, they cease to exist as their own distinct entities, their own identities completely lost. Just—clouds. Eros continues to be gently supportive, agreeing with Antony: it does, my lord. Yes, you’re right. He’s an onstage audience, too, for the audience to nod along with. That’s what clouds do, yes. My good knave Eros—oh, Eros, lad, so affectionate, informal—says Antony, that’s me, the man you’ve followed as your leader with such loyalty. That’s where I’m at. Now thy captain is even such a body; I’m like those clouds, my edges all blurred, out of focus, dissolving away into nothing. Here I am Antony—look, here I am, me—yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave. I feel like I’m falling apart, fading away, lad; I can’t hold it together any more. I feel like I barely exist any more; I don’t know who I am.