[Enter a servant with Thidias]

ANTONY                     Is he whipped?

SERVANT                               Soundly, my lord.

ANTONY         Cried he, and begged a pardon?

SERVANT                   He did ask favour.

ANTONY         [to Thidias] If that thy father live, let him repent

Thou wast not made his daughter, and be thou sorry

To follow Caesar in his triumph, since

Thou hast been whipped for following him. Henceforth

The white hand of a lady fever thee,

Shake thou to look on’t.                    (3.13.131-140)

It’s probably impossible for Antony to look anything other than petty, bullying, and cruelly vindictive here, and for the audience—whose sympathy might have swung towards Antony, even as he berates Cleopatra so viciously, because of his evident distress—to gasp at the violence of Thidias’s treatment: torn clothes, a bloody back and perhaps face, the smooth wannabe lothario humiliated, staggering, badly injured, perhaps unable to speak. The reaction of the others on stage is crucial: are they shocked too? is this just the world in which they live, did they always know that Antony was capable of this? He’s not going to give an inch: is he whipped? An entirely redundant question, but it reminds everyone, that was Antony’s command. Soundly, my lord. Probably redundant too; it’s abundantly clear. But Antony bullies on; it’s unedifying, this continued humiliation of his inferior. Cried he, and begged a pardon? did he cringe, and beg, and snivel like a schoolboy; did you make him cry? The servant might be uneasy, or impassive: he did ask favour, he asked for mercy. At least he’s not going to give details, to humiliate Thidias all over again in front of Cleopatra and the rest. Antony’s unrelenting in his cruelty, which is both personal and because he wants all of this to be relayed back to Caesar. If that your father live, if he’s still alive, let him repent thou wast not made his daughter, sorry to have fathered you at all, seeing as you’ve disgraced your name and your status as his son. And be thou sorry to follow Caesar in his triumph, take no pleasure in being on the winning side, seeing as you’ve disgraced yourself in his service too, and been whipped for following him. Loser. (Antony is projecting, which is mostly what all of this is about.) Henceforth the white hand of a lady fever thee, shake thou to look on’t. And if you ever take it into your head to try your luck with a queen again, to smarm over her white hand and lose your head in flirtation, delirious with lust—remember this, and tremble. (The conceit is of love as a fever, but shaking with fear, rather than the shivers of an illness.)

This is an extraordinary scene for Antony and I have no idea how an actor manages it—and it’s not over yet.