ANTONY                                 Most sweet queen—

CLEOPATRA   Nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going,

But bid farewell and go. When you sued staying,

Then was the time for words—no going then.

Eternity was in our lips and eyes,

Bliss in our brow’s bent; none our parts so poor

But was a race of heaven. They are so still,

Or thou, the greatest soldier of the world,

Art turned the greatest liar.             (1.3.31-9)

Antony tries, again: most sweet queen. Its wheedling, pleading effect is given emphasis by the internal rhyme, please, please—but undercut (at least for an early modern audience) by a quibble on queen and quean, prostitute. Not that it makes much difference to Cleopatra, in full flow, and she’s used to it anyway: nay, pray you, seek no colour for your going, but bid farewell and go. Please, don’t bother trying to explain or making excuses, coming up with flimsy justifications, just say your goodbyes and go (get out, even). When you sued staying, when you were begging me to let you stay, then was the time for words—no going then. A slight softening, as she remembers that time, those words? No going then; a hint, even, to Antony, now: don’t go. Don’t go. And, suddenly, briefly, the passion is there, the longing, and the memories. When you wanted to stay, when you couldn’t bear to leave, eternity was in our lips and eyes… She’s using the plural of herself, remembering all the compliments that Antony paid her. You told me that eternity was in my lips and eyes, everything I said—my kisses—the way I looked at you. Bliss in our brow’s bent—you told me how much you loved my eyebrows, even—and none our parts so poor but was a race of heaven. You told me that every single part of my body (a little shimmy here?) was heavenly, heaven-sent. They are so still: my lips, my eyes, my brows, my whole body, it’s all still the same, all the things you love about me, my body, the way I look at you, the way I make you feel. Remember this? Were you lying when you said those things? I haven’t changed; look at me. So, in that case, if you’re leaving me, then thou, the greatest soldier of the world, art turned the greatest liar. You were lying, you big, brave warrior man, when you said those things to me (and when you swore you’d never leave). Were you?

The effect to a modern ear can perhaps be a little more poignant, as our lips and eyes are not simply Cleopatra’s, grandly royal and plural, but those of both the lovers as they gazed at each other, talked and swore their vows, and kissed. Eternity: we thought we’d be together forever. I thought you’d be mine forever.