act 4, scene 9
CAESAR'S camp.

[Sentinels at their Post.]

FIRST SOLDIER.
If we be not reliev'd within this hour,
We must return to thecourt of guard: the night
Is shiny; and they say we shall embattle
By the second hour i' the morn.

SECOND SOLDIER.
This last day was
A shrewd one to's.

[Enter ENOBARBUS.]

ENOBARBUS.
O, bear me witness, night.--

THIRD SOLDIER.
What man is this?

SECOND SOLDIER.
Stand close and list him.

ENOBARBUS.
Be witness to me, O thou blessed moon,
When men revolted shall upon record
Bear hateful memory, poor Enobarbus did
Before thy face repent!--

FIRST SOLDIER.
Enobarbus!

THIRD SOLDIER.
Peace!
Hark further.

ENOBARBUS.
O sovereign mistress of true melancholy,
The poisonous damp of night disponge upon me,
That life, a very rebel to my will,
May hang no longer on me: throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault;
Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder,
And finish all foul thoughts. O Antony,
Nobler than my revolt is infamous,
Forgive me in thine own particular;
But let the world rank me in register
A master-leaver and a fugitive:
O Antony! O Antony!

[Dies.]

SECOND SOLDIER.
Let's speak to him.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Let's hear him, for the things he speaks
May concern Caesar.

THIRD SOLDIER.
Let's do so. But he sleeps.

FIRST SOLDIER.
Swoons rather; for so bad a prayer as his
Was never yet fore sleep.

SECOND SOLDIER.
Go we to him.

THIRD SOLDIER.
Awake, sir, awake; speak to us.

SECOND SOLDIER.
Hear you, sir?

FIRST SOLDIER.
The hand of death hath raught him.

[Drums afar off.]

Hark! the drums
Do merrily wake the sleepers. Let us bear him
To the court of guard; he is of note: our hour
Is fully out.

THIRD SOLDIER.
Come on, then;
He may recover yet.

[Exeunt with the body.]

gradesaver
Caesar's camp. A Sentry and Second Watch observe, unseen, as Enobarbus cries out grievously about his awful betrayal of Antony. He seems to swoon. The two soldiers go to him, and find that he is dead or dying
cliffnotes
The scene shifts briefly back to Caesar's camp. Sentries are keeping watch throughout the night, and they hear Enobarbus, still distraught, speaking to the moon. In a moving soliloquy, Enobarbus makes his final speech; he is a symbol of melancholy and madness, and he despairs that he deserted Antony. As he falls and dies, probably of self-inflicted wounds, the sentries go to him, thinking that he has merely fainted. When they discover that he is dead, they carry his body back to the camp.
It is theatrically fitting that Enobarbus's final irrational despair and delirium should occur in a scene bathed in moonlight. Many people in Shakespeare's time believed that night air and moonlight could cause illness, depression, and even madness. Even now we have words based on such notions -- "moonstruck," "lunatic," and "looney," for example. It is not clear from the stage instructions whether Enobarbus falls on his sword or whether he simply dies of self-inflicted wounds. Perhaps he has already stabbed himself, and we are hearing his last words. It is possible, however, that "the flint and hardness" of his fault is figurative only, and that he dies of grief and of a broken heart.
sparknotes
Antony returns from war, vowing to destroy Caesar's army completely on the following day. He praises his soldiers for their valor and commands them to regale their families with tales of the day's battle. When Cleopatra enters, Antony declares his love for her. He announces that she is the only thing that can pierce his armor and reach his heart. Antony asks Cleopatra to commend Scarus, one of his bravest soldiers. The queen promises the man a suit of golden armor that once belonged to a king. Antony leads his troops and his lover in a triumphant march through the streets of Alexandria to mark the joyous occasion
Act IV, scenes ix-xv In Act IV, scene xv, Antony, who has been betrayed by his lover and has lost the war to Caesar, offers one of the play's most profound reflections on the connection between character and circumstance: "Here I am Antony, / Yet cannot hold this visible shape, my knave" . As his fortune changes from good to bad, so, he believes, his character slips from honorable to dishonorable. He likens himself to a cloud that shifts from one shape into another. Given the play's investment in spectacle--neither love nor war truly matters unless one has something to show for them--Antony's disturbance at being unable to hold a "visible shape" is particularly interesting. His honor, it seems, is primarily a function of whether the world sees him as honorable. When it fails to do so, Antony no longer fits into it. His rigid definition of himself as a victorious general and as Cleopatra's lover betrays his Roman sensibilities, which cannot and will not allow him to assume the contradictory roles of the conqueror and the conquered. He will, he decides, either be the hero or cease to exist at all by killing himself. His statement "Here I am Antony" reflects his search for a glimpse of his former, simpler self: the indomitable hero who will put an end to his life. Thus, he thankfully notes to Eros, all that remains to him is suicide. Once the second sea battle is lost, the play belongs to Antony until his death--Cleopatra recedes, as does Caesar. In the scenes leading up to his death, Antony's feelings of betrayal, regret, and, ultimately, love give way to some of the finest language in the play. Oh, sun, thy uprise shall I see no more: Fortune and Antony part here; even here Do we shake hands. All come to this? The hearts That spanieled me at heels, to whom I gaveTheir wishes, do discandy, melt their sweetsOn blossoming Caesar, and this pine is barkedThat over topped them all.           Here, as Antony bids goodbye to "Fortune," he comes to an important realization from which he cannot recover. Comparing himself to a tree that once towered above all others, he now feels that Cleopatra's inconstant love, which once "spanieled" at his heels, has stripped him of his bark. This metaphor expresses that he feels raw, unprotected, and doomed to die. Cleopatra enters soon after Antony delivers these lines, and he scares her away with vicious threats. More than anger, however, Antony feels a keen sense of loss. He laments, "I made these wars for . . .  the Queen-- / Whose heart I thought I had, for she had mine, / Which . . .  had annexed unto't / A million more, now lost" . This utterance of regret confirms Antony's lost sense of self: he no longer possesses either of the identities--military giant or lover of Cleopatra--that have defined him so well. The news of Cleopatra's suicide suffices to cool Antony's temper and returns him to thoughts of reconciliation. By killing himself, Antony envisions joining his love in the afterlife: "I come, my queen . . .  / Where souls do couch on flowers we'll hand in hand, / And with our sprightly port make the ghosts gaze" . This consummation in death of their love moves the couple toward its ultimate victory over Caesar and the Roman Empire.