SOOTHSAYER                        You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune

Than that which is to approach.

CHARMIAN     Then belike my children shall have no names. Prithee, how many boys and wenches must I have?

SOOTHSAYER                        If every of your wishes had a womb,

And fertile every wish, a millïon.

CHARMIAN     Out, fool—I forgive thee for a witch.

ALEXAS           You think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes. (1.2.27-34)

You have seen and proved a fairer former fortune than that which is to approach: it’s all downhill from here, love, says the Soothsayer, although not quite in so many words. Charmian is undaunted; she’s still thinking of her ridiculous fantasy of marrying multiple kings (which she knows is absurd, as absurd as she finds fortune-telling, or pretends to), and so, belike my children shall have no names. My children will be illegitimate then, my relationships irregular. So be it. But, more to the point (and exactly the sort of question that a woman might ask of a fortune-teller), how many boys and wenches must I have? How many of my entirely hypothetical children will be girls, and how many boys? The Soothsayer’s got her number, her refusal to take any of this seriously: well, if every one of your wishes had a womb, and fertile every wish, a million. Your whims and fancies are so many and various, your children will be without number. Pah—still completely unfazed by all of this—in that case, I forgive thee for a witch, go away, you fool, retorts Charmian. You’re definitely not the real deal, incapable of foretelling anything. You’re a useless soothsayer! Alexas is possibly taking it more seriously: you think none but your sheets are privy to your wishes, your dreams and your real fantasies, the secret hopes (for love?) you whisper to your pillow. And so, in the midst of the fooling around and the mockery, the question remains a live one: what does Charmian really want? What does Cleopatra? What does anyone?