CHARMIAN    Dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say

The gods themselves do weep.

CLEOPATRA              This proves me base.

If she first meet the curlèd Antony

He’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss

Which is my heaven to have.

[She takes an aspic from the basket and puts it to her breast]

Come, thou mortal wretch,

With thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate

Of life at once untie. Poor venomous fool,

Be angry, and dispatch. O, couldst thou speak,

That I might hear thee call great Caesar ass

Unpolicied!                 (5.2.288-297)

Charmian is deeply moved, by the spectacle in general and in particular by Iras’s sudden death, as loss is piled upon loss, and this one not anticipated: dissolve, thick cloud, and rain, that I may say the gods themselves do weep. This is a scene of such pathos that heaven should weep at the sight; the gods should take pity. (And the language of dissolving is characteristic of both the play and this moment, Cleopatra’s wish to be fire and air, to resolve to elements.) Cleopatra, however, is fixed on Antony, and on herself: this—Iras’s death—proves me base. It shows me up, suggests that I lack honour and nobility, in delaying a moment longr. Moreover, if she first meet the curled Antony, he’ll make demand of her, and spend that kiss which is my heaven to have. It’s a joke, and it can get a laugh, the thought that if Iras arrives in the afterlife before her mistress, Antony—that great lover, curled, both because he’s smartly groomed in anticipation of seeing Cleopatra, freshly shaved, smelling lovely, and also because curly hair was a classical archetype of masculine beauty; Cleopatra continues to idealise him—he’ll be so eager, so pleased to see her, that he’ll give her the kiss that’s meant for me, which is my heaven—and that’s the phrase which makes Cleopatra just a little less selfish (possibly) in her response to Iras’s death. Her heaven is where Antony is, his kiss (eternity was in our lips, she’s said to him earlier)—and she can’t wait to get there, that’s why she’s jealous of Iras.

So, snake time. Come thou mortal wretch, deadly worm, and with thy sharp teeth this knot intrinsicate of life at once untie. The serpent here is like the classical fates, cutting the thread of life; that thread is knotted and complex as well as vital, but Cleopatra imagines it being bitten straight through, rather than patiently untangled. She imagines both bite and venom as sharp and deadly. And there’s scope both for gentle comedy and for snake-wrangling, if the production is supplying a real snake and it’s proving reluctant (never work with…): poor venomous fool, be angry, and dispatch. Come on, hurry up, bite me! You don’t know any better, get on with it! (She needs to provoke it into biting her, it seems.) And, even more, o, couldst thou speak, that I might hear thee call great Caesar ass unpolicied! If only you were able to talk, little snake, you’d be calling Caesar names just like me, hoodwinked, and cheated! We’ve won, you and me, little snake; we’ve got one over him!