Enter a guard [and Dercetus]

FIRST GUARD                         What’s the noise?

ANTONY         I have done my work ill, friends. O, make an end

Of what I have begun!

SECOND GUARD                    The star is fall’n.

FIRST GUARD And time is at his period.

ALL GUARDS                                      Alas

And woe!

ANTONY Let him that loves me strike me dead.

FIRST GUARD             Not I.

SECOND GUARD                    Nor I.

THIRD GUARD                                   Nor anyone.

Exeunt the guard

DERCETUS     Thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly.

[He takes Antony’s sword]

This sword but shown to Caesar, with this tidings,

Shall enter me with him.                  (4.15.103-111)

 

A guard here is a company of guards, a couple at least; what’s the noise, they ask, understandably. Antony is dignified, self-deprecating, yet pathetic—and he’s still demonstrating his natural rapport with other soldiers. I have done my work ill, friends. I’ve really botched this, guys. O, make an end of what I have begun! Please, finish the job for me; I can’t do it myself. But the guards are aghast at seeing Antony like this: the star is fallen, the soldier’s guide and leader, a vivid image of descent, the high brought low. And time is at his period, another guard adds, meaning that this is the end of an era, the end of days; that’s how terrible a sight this is, how appalling to contemplate. Alas and woe, they cry, a veritable tragic chorus. Antony tries again, both more directly and with more of an appeal to emotion, just as he did with Eros: let him that loves me strike me dead. Please! If you love me, help me to die. But the guards are having none of it, and they’re out of there. Only Dercetus remains, making a more complex calculation: ok, thy death and fortunes bid thy followers fly; it’s not surprising that your supporters have bailed out, because you’re done, you’re over, and they’ve got to think of themselves. However—this sword but shown to Caesar, identifiably Antony’s, with this tidings, of his death, shall enter me with him. Dercetus reckons that he’ll be in Caesar’s favour for certain, in line for a job, a promotion, if he’s the one that breaks the news of Antony’s death, with the proof of his sword in hand. Taking Antony’s sword away also demonstrates not a little callousness in Dercetus (a contrast to Antony’s warmth, his fellow feeling for his men) given that this takes away the most obvious means for Antony to make another attempt to kill himself.