Character

Clown in Antony and Cleopatra

Role: Comic rustic bearing the asp; messenger of death First appearance: Act 5, Scene 2 Last appearance: Act 5, Scene 2 Approx. lines: 8

The Clown is a country fellow—humble, garrulous, and cheerfully obtuse—who appears only once, in the final scene of the play, yet proves to be the most consequential minor character in all of tragedy. He arrives at Cleopatra’s monument bearing a basket of figs, innocently carrying inside it the asp that will end the queen’s life. His few lines are a masterpiece of Shakespearean comic relief, filled with folksy banter about the serpent’s nature, its deadliness, and the absurdity of trusting venomous creatures to wise people. He warns Cleopatra not to touch the asp (“his biting is immortal”), speaks of remembering a woman who died from its bite, and offers rambling philosophical observations about how “the devil himself will not eat a woman” and how devils corrupt five out of every ten women they make.

What makes the Clown remarkable is the profound irony that attends his presence. He is the antithesis of courtly refinement—earthy, practical, half-joking—yet he serves as the unwitting agent of transcendence. While Cleopatra treats him with patronizing courtesy, asking if the worm will eat her and dismissing his warnings with casual “ayes” and “farewells,” she is actually receiving the instrument of her liberation from Caesar’s triumph. The Clown represents the ordinary world, the world of farmers and simple folk who deal with snakes as practical hazards, yet in this play that world intersects with the cosmic drama of empires falling and lovers choosing death over humiliation.

His dialogue reveals Shakespeare’s gift for making even the briefest characters carry thematic weight. The Clown’s jokes about the worm’s nature—that it does “his kind,” that it is “not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise people,” that there is “no goodness in worm”—take on grave significance once Cleopatra uses the asp as her final act of will. He is both foolish and wise, comic and instrumental, a rustic voice intruding into the marble halls of Egypt at the precise moment when comedy and tragedy become indistinguishable. His exit line—“I wish you joy o’ the worm”—becomes a benediction, however unknowingly offered, for an act of noble self-determination.

Key quotes

Very many, men and women too. I heard of one of them no longer than yesterday: a very honest woman, but something given to lie; as a woman should not do, but in the way of honesty: how she died of the biting of it, what pain she felt: truly, she makes a very good report o’ the worm; but he that will believe all that they say, shall never be saved by half that they do: but this is most fallible, the worm’s an odd worm.

Lots of people, both men and women. I heard about one Just yesterday: a very honest woman, But prone to lying; as women sometimes do, But only when it’s honest lying: she died from the Worm’s bite, she talked about the pain she went through: Honestly, she gives a great report of the worm; But anyone who believes everything they say Won’t be saved by half of what they do: but this is sure, The worm is a strange one.

Clown · Act 5, Scene 2

The Clown describes in gossipy detail how many people have died from the asp's bite, including a woman who lied well. The speech persists because it mixes comedy with death—the Clown's rambling, practical tone about poison makes mortality feel ordinary and inevitable. It prepares us for Cleopatra's end by showing that death is just another fact, witnessed and reported like the weather.

Look you, the worm is not to be trusted but in the keeping of wise people; for, indeed, there is no goodness in worm.

Look, you can’t trust the worm unless it’s with wise people, because, really, there’s nothing good about a worm.

Clown · Act 5, Scene 2

The Clown warns that the asp cannot be trusted except in the hands of wise people, because there is no goodness in the worm. The line works because it is both warning and riddle—a simple truth about a dangerous thing that will soon kill a queen. It suggests that some powers can only be wielded safely by those who understand their nature.

You must not think I am so simple but I know the devil himself will not eat a woman: I know that a woman is a dish for the gods, if the devil dress her not. But, truly, these same whoreson devils do the gods great harm in their women; for in every ten that they make, the devils mar five.

You must not think I’m so naive that I don’t know even the devil won’t eat a woman. I know that a woman is a meal fit for the gods, unless the devil dresses her up. But honestly, these devilish rascals do a lot of harm to the gods with their women, because out of every ten they make, the devils ruin five.

Clown · Act 5, Scene 2

The Clown jokes that even the devil won't eat a woman, because women are a dish for the gods. The passage lands because it mingles crude misogyny with a kind of gallant truth—women are too precious, too divine, to be simply consumed. It becomes a backhanded compliment just before Cleopatra uses that same preciousness as a reason to die nobly.

Clown in Antony and Cleopatra

Key quotes

Relationships

Clown & Cleopatra

Where Clown appears

Hear Clown, narrated.