ANTONY         I made these wars for Egypt, and the Queen—

Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine,

Which whilst it was mine had annexed unto’t

A million more, now lost—she, Eros, has

Packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory

Unto an enemy’s triumph.

Nay, weep not, gentle Eros. There is left us

Ourselves to end ourselves.             (4.15.15-22)

I made these wars for Egypt, Antony says ruefully; I went to war for Cleopatra and her country (which isn’t, strictly speaking, true?) and the Queen—whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine; we were so in love; we were partners—and, moreover, whilst it (my heart) was (still) mine had annexed unto’t a million more, now lost—and I had so many followers of my own, and they’ve abandoned me too. Antony’s spiralling into self-pity, entirely understandably: he’s lost everything, why not exaggerate the numbers? But it’s Cleopatra’s apparent betrayal that he keeps coming back to: she, Eros, has packed cards with Caesar, and false-played my glory unto an enemy’s triumph. She’s dealt me a false hand, stacked the decks; she’s given my enemy a trump card, and ensured that he will win. (To imagine this as a card game is also a bitter recollection of Cleopatra’s love of pastimes and games, and gives a sense of her tendency to thoughtlessness and impulsiveness, gambling everything away.) A cue for Eros: nay, weep not, gentle Eros. Don’t cry, lad. Antony’s kind, paternal, as well as sentimental. Because there is left us ourselves to end ourselves. We’re still in control of our own fates; we can still determine what happens to us. He means, of course, that they are still able to make the choice to kill themselves.