Author: skb3

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Antony and Cleopatra 1.3

ANTONY

Now, my dearest queen.

CLEOPATRA

Pray you, stand further from me.

ANTONY

What’s the matter? 

CLEOPATRA

I know, by that same eye, there’s some good news.
What says the married woman? You may go:
Would she had never given you leave to come!
Let her not say ’tis I that keep you here:
I have no power upon you; hers you are.

 ANTONY

The gods best know—

CLEOPATRA

O, never was there queen
So mightily betrayed! yet at the first
I saw the treasons planted.

ANTONY

Cleopatra—

 CLEOPATRA

Why should I think you can be mine and true,
Though you in swearing shake the throned gods,
Who have been false to Fulvia? Riotous madness,
To be entangled with those mouth-made vows,
Which break themselves in swearing!

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 brows’ 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. 

ANTONY

How now, lady?

 CLEOPATRA

I would I had thy inches, thou shouldst know
There were a heart in Egypt.

ANTONY

Hear me, Queen:
The strong necessity of time commands
Our services awhile; but my full heart
Remains in use with you. Our Italy
Shines o’er with civil swords: Sextus Pompeius
Makes his approaches to the port of Rome:
Equality of two domestic powers
Breed scrupulous faction: the hated, grown to strength,
Are newly grown to love: the condemn’d Pompey,
Rich in his father’s honour, creeps apace,
Into the hearts of such as have not thrived
Upon the present state, whose numbers threaten;
And quietness, grown sick of rest, would purge
By any desperate change: my more particular,
And that which most with you should safe my going,
Is Fulvia’s death.

CLEOPATRA

Though age from folly could not give me freedom,
It does from childishness: can Fulvia die?

What I find so humorous about this scene is that the exchange between Cleopatra and Antnoy epitomizes the claim that, despite Shakespeare’s title, this is Cleopatra’s play.  If we isolate Antony’s lines leading up to the reveal that Fulvia has died, this is what we get:

Now, my dearest queen.

What’s the matter?

The gods best know—

Cleopatra—

Most sweet Queen—

How now, lady?

If left unlabeled, these lines might seem more aligned with the speech of a servant speaking to his mistress instead of the words of a respected general reasoning with his lover.  The speech of Cleopatra, in contrast, dances across the page with charisma and a certain degree of childishness, something Cleopatra claims to be rid of.

Using these lines, I would like to consider freedom in Shakespeare’s language: How strict are certain character parameters?  How much flexibility do readers and actors have when delivering a character as dynamic as Cleopatra?  Take Cleopatra’s last two lines: “Though age from folly could not give me freedom, / It does from childishness: can Fulvia die?”  These words carry a lot of weight, but how “should” they be delivered?  (With the glee of an adolescent, a degree of snideness, etc.)

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MND Passage for Emphasis: “Play our play” (Sarah)

…

Quince

Flute, you must take Thisbe on you.

Flute

What is Thisbe? a wandering knight?

Quince

It is the lady that Pyramus must love.

Flute

Nay, faith, let me not play a woman; I have a beard coming.

Quince

That’s all one: you shall play it in a mask, and
you may speak as small as you will.

Bottom

An I may hide my face, let me play Thisbe too, I’ll
speak in a monstrous little voice. ‘Thisne,
Thisne;’ ‘Ah, Pyramus, lover dear! thy Thisbe dear,
and lady dear!’

Quince

No, no; you must play Pyramus: and, Flute, you Thisbe.

Bottom

Well, proceed.

Quince

Robin Starveling, the tailor.

Starveling

Here, Peter Quince.

Quince

Robin Starveling, you must play Thisbe’s mother.
Tom Snout, the tinker.

Snout

Here, Peter Quince.

Quince

You, Pyramus’ father: myself, Thisbe’s father:
Snug, the joiner; you, the lion’s part: and, I
hope, here is a play fitted.

Snug

Have you the lion’s part written? pray you, if it
be, give it me, for I am slow of study.

Quince

You may do it extempore, for it is nothing but roaring.

Bottom

Let me play the lion too: I will roar, that I will
do any man’s heart good to hear me; I will roar,
that I will make the duke say ‘Let him roar again,
let him roar again.’

Quince

An you should do it too terribly, you would fright
the duchess and the ladies, that they would shriek;
and that were enough to hang us all.

All

That would hang us, every mother’s son.

…

(Act I Scene II)

This week’s work with the digital resources proved to be quite the task (despite being the youngest person in the room, I am embarrassingly out of touch with technology).  Still, using the suggested platforms proved to be very useful in pushing me to look beyond the immediacy of a small section of text and appreciate larger trends that pervade the entirety of this play.  Speaking of play (!!!), I chose to focus my attention on Shakespeare’s ‘play within a play’ structure by unpacking the word’s various forms in A Midsummer Night’s Dream.  Voyant provided the most visually striking representation of this by mapping out the term’s sixteen occurrences in Act I Scene II (a portion of which is included above).

Though Voyant didn’t give what might be considered a sophisticated breakdown of how “play” was used in each instance (e.g. part of speech, verb tense if applicable), it was certainly helpful in emphasizing the term’s significance in relation to the surrounding text.

The role of “play,” both the idea and word itself, take on a ‘meta importance’ as the story progresses: the players, fairies, lovers, and peacemakers all, quite literally, play their part by simultaneously engaging in lighthearted acts of comedy and carefully engineered performances.  Much of this is brought to the surface by the players’ production of Pyramus and Thisbe, but arguably just as much is revealed through the players’ dialogue outside of their performance.  “Play” takes on multiple roles in this passage, acting as an activity for amusement (n.), the act of engaging in such activity (v.), and the process of immersing oneself in whimsical pretense (v.).  It’s all very dizzying, but this is precisely what Shakespeare wants.

Taking all of this into consideration, how does the multifaceted nature of “play”—as it exists in both this specific passage and the story as a whole—shape our understanding of Snout’s line in Act III Scene I: “Doth the moon shine that night we play our play?”