ANTONY                                 Thou art sworn, Eros,

That when the exigent should come, which now

Is come indeed—when I should see behind me

Th’inevitable prosecution of

Disgrace and horror—that on my command

Thou then wouldst kill me. Do’t. The time is come.

Thou strik’st not me; ’tis Caesar thou defeat’st.

Put colour in thy cheek.

EROS                           The gods withhold me!

Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts,

Though enemy, lost aim and could not?     (4.15.62-71)

Crisis, and perhaps a further twist for the audience (although not if they know Plutarch). Eros, you promised, solemnly; thou art sworn, Eros—you took an oath—that when the exigent should come, when it came down to it, the moment of crisis, which now is come indeed (it certainly is)—when I should see behind me the inevitable prosecution of disgrace and horror, when there is obviously no way out, no way of outrunning utter dishonour, complete abjection—you swore that on my command thou then would’st kill me. You’d kill me. Well, now that moment’s arrived. So do it. Do it. The time is come. Now.

Does Eros visibly recoil, demur? Because Antony reassures him, encourages him. Thou strik’st not me; ’tis Caesar thou defeat’st. You’re gaining victory over Caesar by killing me! And by that, I’m defeating him too! So put colour in thy cheek: don’t look pale, be resolute and strike. Eros, though, is appalled, oath or no oath. The gods withhold me! Heaven forfend! I? Kill you? How? Shall I do that which all the Parthian darts, though enemy, lost aim and could not?Even some of your fiercest opponents, the Parthian archers, loosing hails of arrows behind them as they rode on their galloping horses—they couldn’t kill you with their deadly darts! They lost their purpose, their motivation; they lost their nerve. Their arrows simply missed. And if they failed…