I never pass up the opportunity to quote Shakespeare, so I was very happy to come across the "When you see this, quote Shakespeare!" meme. I had a bunch of possible passages in mind, but then I remembered this, from Antony and Cleopatra:
[Enter a company of Soldiers.]
1. Sold. Brother, good night; to-morrow is the day.
2. Sold. It will determine one way; fare you well.
Heard you of nothing strange about the streets?
1. Sold. Nothing. Belike 'tis but a rumor. Good night to you.
2. Sold. Well, sir, good night.
[They meet other Soldiers.]
2. Sold. Soldiers, have careful watch.
3. Sold. And you. Good night, good night.
[They place themselves in every corner of the stage.]
2. Sold. Here we. And if to-morrow
Our navy thrive, I have an absolute hope
Our landmen will stand up.
1. Sold. 'Tis a brave army,
And full of purpose.
[Music of the hoboys is heard under the stage.]
2. Sold. Peace, what noise?
1. Sold. List, list!
2. Sold. Hark!
1. Sold. Music i' th' air.
3. Sold. Under the earth.
4. Sold. It signs well, does it not?
3. Sold. No.
1. Sold. Peace, I say.
What should this mean?
2. Sold. 'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd,
Now leaves him.
1. Sold. Walk; let's see if other watchmen
Do hear what we do.
2. Sold. How now, masters?
All. (Speak together.) How now?
How now? Do you hear this?
1. Sold. Ay, is't not strange?
3. Sold. Do you hear, masters? Do you hear?
1. Sold. Follow the noise so far as we have quarter;
Let's see how it will give off.
All. Content. 'Tis strange.
(Antony and Cleopatra, act 4, scene 3)
What I love about this scene (which is based on Plutarch's account of the night before Antony's final defeat in the Life of Antony, chapter 75) is that it's one of the moments when we know the plot's moving definitively toward tragedy, but neither of the main characters is there to witness it. Instead, we see the whole scene through a group of characters so minor they don't even have names, who aren't sure how to interpret what's going on and don't know what's going to happen next. (Almost casual, that explanation: "'Tis the god Hercules, whom Antony lov'd, / Now leaves him.") And the music under the stage, which, when done right, is strangely eerie; the supernatural doesn't really show up in this play (frequent references to Roman and Egyptian gods notwithstanding) until this moment, when we don't expect it. And then there's always C. P. Cavafy's poem about the same incident.
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