Canidius marcheth with his land army one way over the stage, and Taurus, the lieutenant of Caesar[, with his army] the other way. After their going in is heard the noise of a sea-fight.

Alarum. Enter Enobarbus

ENOBARBUS  Naught, naught, all naught! I can behold no longer.

Th’Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral,

With all their sixty, fly and turn the rudder.

To see’t mine eyes are blasted.

Enter Scarus

SCARUS                                  Gods and goddesses—

All the whole synod of them!

ENOBARBUS              What’s thy passion?

SCARUS          The greater cantle of the world is lost

With very ignorance; we have kissed away

Kingdoms and provinces.     (3.10.1-8)

There will be banners and drums and trumpets and as many extras as can be mustered—and that both armies are identifiably Roman in their dress and accoutrements may be part of the point. What does a sea-fight sound like? Shouts and trumpets and clashing weapons, perhaps? a London audience might realise that at least some of the ships would be galleys, and therefore expect the sound of the drums beaten to keep the rowers in time. There could be the noise of cannon. It’s trumpets that announce Enobarbus, and if the two armies have entered and exited through the side entrances, he probably comes on from the central entrance, at speed and in a state of considerable excitement and upset. Naught, naught, all naught! All is lost! It’s a disaster! I can behold no longer; can’t bring myself to watch another moment. And why, in particular? Th’Antoniad, the Egyptian admiral, Cleopatra’s flagship, named for her lover (and historically a galley) has fled, changed direction, turned the rudder—and all their sixty, the rest of the ships in the Egyptian fleet—they’ve followed, abandoning the battle entirely. To see’t mine eyes are blasted; I can’t believe it, can’t bear to look at such an appalling sight. It blinds me with horror.

Scarus enters, in a similar state. Gods and goddesses—all the whole synod of them! All the heavenly powers! Can you believe it? (There’s more than a touch of, bloody hell, or something considerably stronger—but it’s also a desperate plea for intercession and intervention from every possible divine aid.) What’s thy passion? asks Enobarbus: he could (even in extremis) be being ironic, oh, what’s got you upset now, as if it’s not obvious enough—or else, what’s the latest, what are you particularly appalled by? Scarus is succinct, if obscure: the greater cantle of the world is lost with very ignorance. We’re totally screwed, we’ve lost more than half the world (a cantle is a portion or segment, such as might be cut from a circle or a sphere), thrown an empire away through sheer bloody stupidity and incompetence; it’s our own bloody fault. We have kissed away kingdoms and provinces, as easy as that, and as lightly—but perhaps with the implication, too, that this is all down to kissing (and the rest), Antony’s obsession with Cleopatra, his indulgence of her, to the exclusion of military strategy and ordinary common sense.