It beggar'd all description

All that and a barge of pimps

The same man who efficiently convinced a town square full of ornery, confused Roman citizens that Julius Caesar was a great man, tragically cut down by "honorable men," had absolutely no chance when he went to Egypt. His clever, sharpened mind couldn't get a word in edgewise to his goolies the moment he saw the incomparable Queen Cleopatra. And really, no one can blame him. Antony's fellow triumvir Octavius tries, yes, but the fact that Enobarbus--Antony's crusty and sarcastic wingman--delivers one of the most sensuous, poetic descriptions of a woman ever penned by the human race is testament to Cleopatra's historically infamous powers of consummate seduction.

No one actually approves of Antony's "gyptian" affair (except Antony and Cleopatra themselves, who are having the time of their lives partying like the whole of Egypt is on an endless Spring Break). But the play displays such an extraordinary aura surrounding this most powerful and uncompromising of Shakespeare's women that it's a true wonder the original player who portrayed her was just a young boy in drag. 

From a memorization standpoint, it's one of the easier speeches to get down. The imagery is rich and beautiful, full of details that create their own "mind palace" mental map of its verbal progression. Imagine being amongst friends at a party, drink in hand, keeping their attention with a lurid story about a recent vacation you had. That's essentially what Enobarbus does.

In this scene, Caesar and Antony are in Rome, discussing Antony's recent sexual fugue in Egypt. Caesar hopes to curb Antony's unrestricted behavior by marrying his chaste sister off to Antony. As soon as the big men leave the room, Enobarbus and his buddies start talking about his time in Alexandria. They all want to know if the stories about Cleopatra's beauty are true, and Enobarbus really works the room with his little story of how Antony met her. Obviously, this speech leads the men into a bawdy conversation about Antony's bedroom exploits.

Antony & Cleopatra, Act II, Sc. II
Enobarbus: I will tell you. 
The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, 
Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold; 
Purple the sails, and so perfumed that 
The winds were love-sick with them; the oars were silver, 
Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made 
The water which they beat to follow faster, 
As amorous of their strokes. For her own person, 
It beggar'd all description: she did lie 
In her pavilion--cloth-of-gold of tissue-- 
O'er-picturing that Venus where we see 
The fancy outwork nature: on each side her 
Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, 
With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem 
To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool, 
And what they undid did...

Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, 
So many mermaids, tended her i' the eyes, 
And made their bends adornings: at the helm 
A seeming mermaid steers: the silken tackle 
Swell with the touches of those flower-soft hands, 
That yarely frame the office. From the barge 
A strange invisible perfume hits the sense 
Of the adjacent wharfs. The city cast 
Her people out upon her; and Antony, 
Enthroned i' the market-place, did sit alone, 
Whistling to the air; which, but for vacancy, 
Had gone to gaze on Cleopatra too, 
And made a gap in nature. 

Fear no more the heat o' the sun

Imogen's long-lost bros obviously haven't seen a lady in a long while.

Who the hell is Cymbeline? He's a curmudgeonly old king of Britain with an ice queen of a wife, and he soooo doesn't deserve first billing, much less the titular role of one of Shakespeare's most tragically underrated plays. It's his whip-smart nerd of a daughter, Imogen, who carries this story of forbidden love, betrayal, long lost family, and yet more cross-dressing.

Imogen is probably my favorite female character in all the plays. She's headstrong and beautiful, clever and sharp, and she tends to fall asleep in bed while reading. She's an outspoken geek girl of her time and she holds her own amongst all the confused men in her life.

The detailed and pretzel-like plot in no way diminishes the play's enjoyability, but I take no joy in trying to sum it up within the confines of a pithy blog post. For this speech, this is all one needs to know:

Against her father's will, Imogen elopes with the love of her life, the oddly-named Posthumus (which is semi-prophetical, since Imogen only gets to be with him after she "dies") instead of marrying her evil step-mother's clotpole of a son, Cloten. Posthumous runs off to Rome to escape Cymbeline's wary eye. Imogen is locked up by her parents, but when she gets a fake letter telling her that her husband is in Milford-Haven, she resolves to sneak out, dress as a boy named Fidele, and find him. She meets two young men--Guderius (aka Polydore) and Arviragus (aka Cadwal) who are actually her missing brothers, but the trio are none the wiser. Imogen takes a potion to cure her ills, but she pulls a Juliet and she appears to be dead, and her brothers weep over the loss of their lovable new adopted sibling. 

Over her "dead" body, Imogen's brothers sing this obsequy, which is one of the most beautiful and touching pieces of poetry in all of Shakespeare. I'd be honoured to have this read at my funeral, FYI.

Cymbeline, Act IV, Sc. II
GUIDERIUS: Fear no more the heat o' the sun, 
Nor the furious winter's rages;
Thou thy worldly task hast done, 
Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages;
Golden lads and girls all must,
As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. 
ARVIRAGUS: Fear no more the frown o' the great, 
Thou art past the tyrant's stroke:
Care no more to clothe and eat;
To thee the reed is as the oak:
The sceptre, learning, physic, must 
All follow this, and come to dust. 
Gui. Fear no more the lightning-flash, 
Arv. Nor the all-dreaded thunder-stone;
Gui. Fear not slander, censure rash; 
Arv. Thou hast finished joy and moan;
Both. All lovers young, all lovers must
Consign to thee, and come to dust. 
Gui. No exerciser harm thee! 
Arv. Nor no witchcraft charm thee! 
Gui. Ghost unlaid forbear thee! 
Arv. Nothing ill come near thee! 
Both. Quiet consummation have; 
And renowned be thy grave!

Your most grave belly was deliberate

Judi Dench as Volumnia, Sir Ken as Coriolanus--what I wouldn't have given to have seen this.

Whether you love or loathe election politics (or politics in general), Coriolanus is for you! Like Julius Caesar, it's got universal commentary on democratic republics and all the idealism and cynicism that comes with it. But unlike its more famous cousin, Coriolanus' old men are more meddling than murdering, and the ladies are more manipulative than meek. It's gray with more realism rather than black and white with portents and dreams, which is why it ended up surprising me by becoming one of my favorite plays. This was helped by my viewing of the frankly excellent modern film adaptation recently made by Ralph Fiennes, who plays the titular character, along with Gerard Butler as his frenemy Aufidius. Definitely check that one out ;)

Now, I fall more into the "disinterested center" Jon Stewart likes to say he represents in the political sphere, but yet this story of an outraged, poor citizenry being handily swayed by Roman tribunes and senators via the noble, but socially awkward army general who refuses to be a mouthpiece or play the hypocrisy game really piqued my interest. 

Coriolanus is strong both in body and mind, despises the cowardice of the common people, and believes he deserves praise and high office for his battle achievements without having to grovel to the people he sees as animals. His arch nemesis, aka, "a lion that I [Coriolanus] am proud to hunt," is the equally renowned Aufidius, general of the Volscian army. Aufidius deeply respects Coriolanus (who keeps beating him in single combat) and is possibly the only man Coriolanus truly admires--other than himself, of course.

At his back and biting his neck is Volumnia, Coriolanus' ball-busting mother. She is proud of her son's bloody occupation and shows off his scars. She scoffs at his doting wife's wishes to see him safe at home rather than achieving glory in battle. She knows all his stops and plays him up and down, shoving him into the political ring where he can gain even more renown.

At the start of the play, we meet the good-natured and beloved Menenius, a patrician friend of Coriolanus. He doesn't have deep love for the public either, but his skills playing politics are well-honed.  With the speech I have chosen, he quashes a riot that has broken out over distribution of food in the city. It's reminiscent of language in Caesar and especially Titus Andronicus, which constantly refer to Rome as a body, whose parts don't always manage to work in sync (or get lopped off). Likening the senate to the belly, he calms his "incorporate friends"--the outlying appendages made up of commoners--by explaining the fitness of their political digestive system:

Coriolanus, Act I, Sc. I
Menenius: Your most grave belly was deliberate, 
Not rash like his accusers, and thus answer'd:
"True is it, my incorporate friends," quoth he, 
"That I receive the general food at first, 
Which you do live upon; and fit it is. 
Because I am the store-house and the shop 
Of the whole body: but, if you do remember, 
I send it through the rivers of your blood. 
Even to the court, the heart, to the seat o' the brain;
And, through the cranks and offices of man, 
The strongest nerves and most inferior veins
From me receive that natural competency 
Whereby they live: and though that all at once"--
You, my good friends, this says the belly, mark me...

"Though all at once cannot 
See what I deliver out to each. 
Yet I can make my audit up, that all 
From me do back receive the flour of all, 
And leave me but the bran."