CHARMIAN     Madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly,

You do not hold the method to enforce

The like from him.

CLEOPATRA   What should I do I do not?

CHARMIAN     In each thing give him way; cross him in nothing.

CLEOPATRA   Thou teachest like a fool, the way to lose him.

CHARMIAN     Tempt him not so too far. Iwis, forbear.

In time we hate that which we often fear. (1.3.6-12)

Charmian is critical: madam, methinks, if you did love him dearly, you do not hold the method to enforce the like from him. Do you really think you’re going about this the right way, being contrary, pretending that you’re indifferent to Antony when you say that you love him so much? You’re not acting as though you love him, and it’s perhaps not the best way to make him love you back?

Cleopatra is magnificently unconcerned—or perhaps genuinely puzzled; she’s always acted like this, what else should she do? What should I do I do not? What else is there to do? Well, suggests Charmian, in the manner of a rather old-fashioned agony aunt advising a love-struck teenager about What Men Really Want: in each thing give him way; cross him in nothing. Do everything he says, and never disagree with him; give him his own way in everything. Slippers at the ready and dinner on the table: how was your day, dear? Thou teachest like a fool, the way to lose him, retorts Cleopatra. That’s so lame! He’d never go for a doormat act like that. He likes me like this; he loves me like this, wild and difficult, fascinating and free. I have to keep him guessing, I have to keep him on his toes. But tempt him not so too far: Charmian is persistent and adamant. Sooner or later—sooner rather than later—he’ll lose patience and give up, get sick of your games, the uncertainty, the caprice, the teasing and provoking. In time we hate that which we often fear. That frisson of risk he gets with you, not knowing who he’s going to get today, your moods, your unpredictability—that’ll sour. Be careful.