Enter Caesar [with his council of war]: Agrippa, Dolabella, Maecenas, [Gallus, and Proculeius]

CAESAR          Go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield.

Being so frustrate, tell him how he mocks

The pauses that he makes.

DOLABELLA               Caesar, I shall.

[Exit] Enter Dercetus with the sword of Antony

CAESAR          Wherefore is that? And what art thou that dar’st

Appear thus to us?

DERCETUS                             I am called Dercetus.

Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy

Best to be served. Whilst he stood up and spoke

He was my master, and I wore my life

To spend upon his haters. If thou please

To take me to thee, as I was to him

I’ll be to Caesar; if thou pleasest not,

I yield thee up my life.          (5.1.1-12)

A stark contrast, yet again, to the previous scene: that was all intimacy, tight focus on the platform or gallery over the stage, women, huddled together in grief. Now, Romans, purposeful, public, male, and Caesar as impatient as ever. The question: do they know yet ? there’s perhaps a slight suggestion that this scene overlaps with the previous one, that it begins with an implicit ‘meanwhile’. Caesar’s had enough of Antony: go to him, Dolabella, bid him yield. Tell him that the game’s up, and his time’s up. Enough is enough. He’s got to concede defeat, he’s utterly crushed, and being so frustrate, he mocks the pauses that he makes. By spinning this out, he’s trying my patience, having a laugh for no reason and no possible gain. It’s a travesty for him to delay like this. Dolabella’s efficient, of course: Caesar, I shall—but no sooner has he exited than Dercetus appears, with Antony’s sword, presumably bloody. Ah yes, a dim recollection of some business along these lines, before Cleopatra took over. Dercetus, on the make, with a trophy and a pledge of loyalty to the rising, conquering man. Wherefore is that? What’s going on with the sword? And, even more, what art thou that dar’st appear thus to us? Who the hell are you and what do you think you’re playing at? (An early modern audience would know that it was highly dangerous to appear with a drawn sword in the presence of a monarch, disrespectful at best, treason at worst. An assassination attempt, quite possibly.) I am called Dercetus (you may have heard of me? by this stage in the play, who knows?!) Mark Antony I served, who best was worthy best to be served. A knotty statement of loyalty, sort of: Mark Antony, he was great, a thoroughly deserving master, nothing but the best. Whilst he stood up and spoke (a circumlocution for being alive which perhaps has the Romans raising eyebrows, looking at each other—did he just say what I thought he said?) he was my master, and I wore my life to spend upon his haters. I was absolutely and totally loyal to him. His enemies were mine. However, hangs implicitly. If thou please to take me to thee, as I was to him I’ll be to Caesar. If you’ll take me on, I’ll be every bit as loyal to you, Caesar! No question! Not fickle at all! And if not, if thou pleasest not—if you’re not interested—then I yield thee up my life. You can kill me. Melodramatic (I can’t live without being able to serve a great man as my master—and now, that’s you). But also quite self-serving? ?