ANTONY         Quarrel no more, but be prepared to know

The purposes I bear, which are or cease

As you shall give th’advice. By the fire

That quickens Nilus’ slime, I go from hence

Thy soldier-servant, making peace or war

As thou affects.

CLEOPATRA   Cut my lace, Charmian, come.

But let it be. I am quickly ill and well;

So Antony loves.        (1.3.66-73)

Antony has (possibly) hit his stride, for a few lines at least, managing to balance his roles as lover and warrior: quarrel no more, stop arguing and fretting for the sake of it, and be prepared to know the purposes I bear, listen to my reasoning, what I’m going to do and why I’m doing it. My actions which are or cease, everything I do or don’t do, will be guided by you, as you shall give th’advice. (Everything I do, I’ll do it for you.) By the fire that quickens Nilus’ slime, that is the sun, the action of which on the fertile Nile mud was meant to cause the spontaneous generation of life, I go from hence thy soldier-servant. I can still be both at once, and I will make peace or war as thou affects, according to your inclinations, instructions, whims. I’m still yours.

Peace? Not a chance; Cleopatra’s in there straight away, making up the line with cut my lace, Charmian, come—give me air, help me to breathe by cutting the lacing on my bodice (rather than the laborious, time-consuming unlacing that undressing would ordinarily involve): cut my lace is the emergency version, the equivalent of ripping open the shirt with both hands rather than undoing the buttons. (And there’s the exciting momentary possibility of skin and flesh spilling forth, an erotic unbuttoning, perfumed and more plenteous even than Nile mud. Proper bodice-ripping.) No costume damage needed here, though, the very thought is enough: but let it be, she instructs Charmian, again, who can put the knife down, or the scissors, if she’s got that far; she would not impossibly have such an implement hanging around her waist. Now the point of that little mini-drama: I am quickly ill and well, just like that, changing in a second, a heartbeat. So Antony loves, he’s every bit as capricious and changeable as my health, fickle to a fault. Which is, as Cleopatra well knows, rich and ironic coming from her in this wonderfully mobile, contrary encounter, which ripples and sparks like shot silk, changeable taffeta.