上部  莎士比亚作品故事
The Classic Stories From 
Shakespeare
第一章  当莎士比亚是个孩子的时候
Chapter 1  When Shakespeare was a Boy

威廉·莎士比亚是家里的长子，于1564年4月26日接受洗礼，曾就读于斯特拉特福中学。1586年父亲因债务被罢官后，莎士比亚便去了伦敦，在那里受到了一些达官贵人的恩宠，并渐渐走运。莎士比亚于1616年4月23日与世长辞。
从一本于以前出版的《学生品德范》中对莎翁小时候的生活可略见一斑。书中详细介绍了小男孩在起床后、在上学路上、在学校里、在放学回家的路上以及在餐桌上需要遵守的一切礼节，还包括他们玩的游戏、对待长辈的态度等等。在书中我们还可了解当时的学校对学生的体罚也相当厉害。
在莎翁的戏剧中鲜有少男、少女的角色，也是因为在当时的社会背景中人们还不清楚少男、少女的真正价值；如果换作今天，就会是另一番景象了。


      ILLIAM SHAKESPEARE was the eldest son of John Shakespeare, a glover in Stratford-on-Avon(a small markettown in Warwickshire), and his wife Mary Arden, one of the daughters of a neighbouring farmer. He was baptised on April 26, 1564, and was educated at the Stratford grammar school (where he learned the little Latin and less Greek which Ben Jonson said he knew); at eighteen and a half he married a woman of twenty-six, one Anne Hathaway, probably a husbandman's daughter, and in February 1585, before he was twenty-one, he found himself with three children and a wife to keep.
In 1586 his father, who had before been an alderman and a person of some importance in the town, was deeply in debt, and was deprived of his aldermanship. So, probably in 1586 or 1587, Shakespeare went to London, and there gradually prospered, being patronised by Lord Southampton, Lord Pembroke, the Queen, King James, etc.
He saved money, bought New Place, the best house in Stratford, and other properties, made a gentleman of his poor old father, by getting him the grant of a coat of arms, married one of his daughters to a tradesman, and the other to a doctor, of Stratford, died there on April 23, 1616, and was buried in Stratford Church on the 25th, where you can still see the stone over his grave, and the monument with his bust in the chancel.
Though his fame took long to grow, he is now acknowledged to be the King of Literature, the greatest genius the world has yet seen, the pride of England, the bond between her and all the nations who speak and understand her tongue.
Now, what kind of life did the boy Shakespeare, and the middle- class boy of his day, live? Let one of his contemporaries tell us, Francis Seager, in his verse, "Schoole of Vertue and booke of good Nourture for chyldren," printed in the year 1557, seven years before Shakespeare was born, and recommended in 1612 by John Brinsley in his "Grammar Schoole," p.18.
When a boy woke, he was to say his prayers, then rise early (at six o'clock, says Rhodes), put on his clothes, cast up his bed (not letting it lie), go down-stairs, salute his parents and family, wash his hands (and his face, says Rhodes), comb his head, brush his cap, put it on (though taking it off when speaking to any one), fasten his shirt-collar round his neck, and his girdle round his waist, rub his hose,— thick drawers worn as trousers,— see that his shoes were clean and that he had a napkin (handkerchief, says Rhodes) to wipe his nose on, pare his nails (if need were), clean his ears, wash his teeth, and have his old clothes mended.
Then he was to get his satchel and books, and hasten to school with them, and pen, paper, and ink, calling for other boys on the way, and taking off his cap to the folk he met, and to his master at school.
Then he was to go straight to his place, take his books out of his satchel, and work hard at his lesson. 
When the school was over, the boy was exhorted to walk home orderly with another boy, "not running on heaps as a swarm of bees," or doing such foolish things "as commonly are used in these days of boys, as whooping and halloing as in hunting the fox," but walking soberly, and doffing his cap to all he met.
(We may be pretty sure that young Will Shakespeare made things lively as he came back from his grammar school to his father's house in Henley Street, Stratford. )
On getting home, the boy was to salute his parents humbly and reverently, and then wait on them at their meal.
(Recollect that forks were very rare articles in Shakespeare's days. He probably never used one in his whole life, but helped himself with his fingers — which were made before forks — and spoon, and had generally a trencher, or slice of hard-baked bread or of wood, as a plate. Even in 1669 Duke Cosmo of Tuscany complained of the want of forks in England.)
Well, the boy's parents (and guests, if any) being seated, the boy was to hold up his hands, say grace, curtsey to the folk at table, and say, "Much good may it do you!" Then he was to put their food on the table, spilling none of it on the sitters' clothes, and having spare trenchers and napkins ready for incomers, and voiders (plate-baskets) to empty the bones and dirty trenchers into.
When the broth and meat were done, the boy was to cover the salt (which was generally in a fine vessel), carry off the dishes, put into a voider the trenchers and napkins on which the eaters had wiped their greasy fingers, sweep the crumbs off with a napkin, and then put on cheese, fruit, biscuits, and wine or ale or beer.
These eaten and drunk, the boy was to fold up the cloth, spread a clean towel on the table (using the cloth if he had not a towel), and bring a basin and jug for the diners to wash their hands, then take the table off its trestles, to let the folk withdraw, and make them a low curtsey.
Having thus waited on his eiders, the boy might get his own meal.
He was to help himself to salt with his knife, and eat his broth with his spoon, not speaking to any one with his head in his cup.
He was not to smack his lips, "as commonly do hogs," or gnaw his bones, "as it were dogs" : "such rudeness abhor! such beastliness fly !"
He was often to wipe his dirty fingers on his napkin, and his mouth before he drank out of his cup. He wasn't to talk or stuff too much, or pick his teeth at the table; nor was he to spit excessively: "this rudeness of youth is to be abhorred." He was to laugh only moderately, and learn all the good manners he could.
Neither Seager nor Rhodes says anything about a boy's breakfast or supper; but as there was no tea, coffee, or cocoa about then, boys would no doubt get some bread and beer — or water or milk—for these meals.
At schools, a good deal of flogging went on "Spare the rod and spoil the child" was the axiom. Even in 1704 E. Coote's "English School Master," in a piece of nine verses, repeats four times the threat of whipping:

    "If you forget a Scholar's part,
    Then must you sure your points untye" [to get flogged].

As late as 1833, I, a little boy in a private school in Surrey, saw the first class of a dozen boys birched twice on their bare skins in one hour because none of them could translate two words in a Virgil lesson.
Many a warming did I afterwards get, and I don't doubt that Shakespeare had more. Girls got beaten too, though we know very little of their school life — if they had girls' schools, other than convent ones — in Shakespeare's youth.
As to games, Shakespeare would play at hoop, tops, marbles, hide-and-seek, leap-frog, more-sacks-to-the-mill, chasing, jumping, swimming, bow-and-arrow shooting, hockey, football, birds'-nesting, haymaking; he'd have fun at harvest-homes and sheep-shearings, at May Day, Christmas, and New Year's Day; he'd run with the harriers and foxhounds — for Shakespeare dearly loved a horse and hound — and have other country amusements.
And whatever fun or mischief was going on, depend on it that young Will Shakespeare, with his chestnut hair, blue eyes, and rosy cheeks, was in the thick of it. Only think what good company he must have been, and what jolly stories he told the boys he was with!
Don't you wish you'd been one of them, even if you did have to put your meat in your mouth with your fingers instead of a fork? I do.
Some boys and girls feel it rather hard that Shakespeare did not put more boys and girls into his plays. He certainly has very few, and doesn't do much with those he has, except when he makes his boys girls.
But the boys and girls of this generation must recollect that Englishmen in the sixteenth century were not, on most points, so enlightened as they are now. They hadn't then learnt the real value of boys and girls, and didn't properly appreciate the blessing and the virtues of them.
Besides, most plays wanted villains or sinners in them; and of course no boy or girl was a villain or a sinner. If Shakespeare could but come to life again now, he'd assuredly put plenty of boys and girls into his new plays. We mustn't expect too much of a man who lived so very long ago. He did his best, and an uncommonly good best it was; so let's forgive him for only using his boys as girls.

BY DR.F.J.FURNIVALL, M.A.
第二章  暴  风  雨
Chapter 2  The Tempest

米兰君主普洛斯彼罗的弟弟安东尼奥为了篡夺王位，在那不勒斯国国王阿朗索的帮助下，把普洛斯彼罗和他不到三岁的小女儿米兰达放逐到了一个孤岛上。在岛上，普洛斯彼罗用法术解救了岛上被女巫困住的以阿列尔为首的精灵们。日子一天天过去了，米兰达也成长为一个漂亮的姑娘。
这一天，安东尼奥、阿朗索及他的儿子法迪那特、弟弟赛拔斯蒂安在海上航行，遭遇了普洛斯彼罗用魔法掀起的暴风雨。普洛斯彼罗命阿列尔把法迪那特带到他与女儿面前，两个年轻人一见钟情。普洛斯彼罗还把其他人也都召集到面前，众人都为自己的罪行忏悔。仁厚的普洛斯彼罗原谅了他们，坐船回到了远离多年的王国。法迪那特与米兰达在那不勒斯举行了隆重的婚礼。每个人又都回到了自己应该的位置。


    ROSPERO, the Duke of Milan, was a learned and studious man, who lived among his books, leaving the management of his dukedom to his brother Antonio, in whom indeed he had complete trust. But that trust was ill-rewarded, for Antonio wanted to wear the Duke's crown himself, and, to gain his ends, would have killed his brother but for the love the people bore him. However, with the help of Prospero's great enemy, Alonso, King of Naples, he managed 







to get into his hands the dukedom with all its honour, power, and riches. For they took Prospero to sea, and when they were far away from land, forced him into a little boat with no tackle, mast or sail. In their cruelty and hatred they put his little daughter, Miranda (not yet three years old), into the boat with him, and sailed away, leaving them to their fate.
But one among the courtiers with Antonio was true to his rightful master, Prospero. To save the Duke from his enemies was impossible, but much could be done to remind him of a subject's love. So this worthy lord, whose name was Gonzalo, secretly placed in the boat some fresh water, provisions and clothes, and what Prospero valued most of all, some of his precious books.
The boat was cast on an island, and Prospero and his little one landed in safety. Now this island was enchanted, and for years had lain under the spell of a fell witch, Sycorax, who had imprisoned in the trunks of trees all the good spirits she found there. She died shortly before Prospero was cast on those shores, but the spirits, of whom Ariel was the chief, still remained in their prisons.
Prospero was a great magician, for he had devoted himself almost entirely to the study of magic during the years in which he allowed his brother to manage the affairs of Milan.
By his art he set free the imprisoned spirits, yet kept them obedient to his will, and they were more truly his subjects than his people in Milan had been.
For he treated them kindly as long as they did his bidding, and he exercised his power over them wisely and well. One creature alone he found it necessary to treat with harshness: this was Caliban, the son of the wicked old witch, a hideous, deformed monster, horrible to look on, and vicious and brutal in all his habits.
When Miranda was grown up into a maiden, sweet and fair to see, it chanced that Antonio and Alonso, with Sebastian, his brother, and Ferdinand, his son, were at sea together with old Gonzalo, and their ship came near Prospero's island. Prospero, knowing they were there, raised by his art a great storm, so that even the sailors on board gave themselves up for lost; and, first among them all, Prince Ferdinand leaped into the sea, and, his father thought in his grief, was drowned. But Ariel brought him safe ashore; and all the rest of the crew, although they were washed overboard, were landed unhurt in different parts of the island, and the good ship herself, which they all thought had been wrecked, lay at anchor in the harbour whither Ariel had brought her. Such wonders could Prospero and his spirits perform.
While yet the tempest was raging, Prospero showed his daughter the brave ship labouring in the trough of the sea, and told her that it was filled with living human beings like themselves. She, in pity of their lives, prayed him who had raised this storm to quell it. Then her father bade her to have no fear, for he intended to save every one of them.
Then for the first time, he told her the story of his life and hers, and that he had caused this storm to rise in order that his enemies, Antonio and Alonso, who were on board, might be delivered into his hands.
When he had made an end of his story he charmed her into sleep, for Ariel was at hand, and he had work for him to do. Ariel, who longed for his complete freedom, grumbled to be kept in drudgery, but on being threateningly reminded of all the sufferings he had undergone when Sycorax ruled in the land, and of the debt of gratitude he owed to the master who had made those sufferings to end, he ceased to complain, and promised faithfully to do whatever Prospero might command.
"Do so," said Prospero, "and in two days I will discharge thee."
Then he bade Ariel take the form of a water nymph, and sent him in search of the young prince.
And Ariel, invisible to Ferdinand, hovered near him, singing the while —

    "Come unto these yellow sands,
    And then take hands:
    Court'sied when you have, and kiss'd
    (The wild waves whist),
    Foot it featly here and there;
    And, sweet sprites, the burthen bear!"
And Ferdinand followed the magic singing, as the song changed to a solemn air, and the words brought grief to his heart, and tears to his eyes, for thus they ran —

    "Full fathom five thy father lies;
    Of his bones are coral made.
    Those are pearls that were his eyes;
    Nothing of him that doth fade,
    But doth suffer a seachange,
    Into something rich and strange.
    Sea-nymphs hourly ring his knell:
    Hark! now I hear them, — ding-dong, bell!"

And so, singing, Ariel led the spell-bound prince into the presence of Prospero and Miranda. Then, behold! all happened as Prospero desired. For Miranda, who had never, since she could first remember, seen any human being save her father, looked on the youthful prince with reverence in her eyes, and love in her secret heart.
"I might call him," she said, "a thing divine, for nothing natural I ever saw so noble!"
And Ferdinand, beholding her beauty with wonder and delight, exclaimed —
"Most sure the goddess on whom these airs attend!"
Nor did he attempt to hide the passion which she inspired in him, for scarcely had they exchanged half a dozen sentences, before he vowed to make her his queen if she were willing. But Prospero, though secretly delighted, pretended wrath.
"You come here as a spy," he said to Ferdinand. "I will manacle your neck and feet together, and you shall feed on fresh-water mussels, withered roots and husks, and have sea-water to drink. Follow."
"No," said Ferdinand, and drew his sword. But on the instant Prospero charmed him so that he stood there like a statue, still as stone; and Miranda in terror prayed her father to have mercy on her lover.
But he harshly refused her, and made Ferdinand follow him to his cell.
There he set the prince to work, making him remove thousands of heavy logs of timber and pile them up; and Ferdinand patiently obeyed, and thought his toil all too well repaid by the sympathy of the sweet Miranda.
She in very pity would have helped him in his hard work, but he would not let her, yet he could not keep from her the secret of his love, and she, hearing it, rejoiced and promised to be his wife.
Then Prospero released him from his servitude, and, glad at heart, he gave his consent to their marriage.
"Take her," he said, "she is thine own."
In the meantime, Antonio and Sebastian in another part of the island were plotting the murder of Alonso, the King of Naples, for Ferdinand being dead, as they thought, Sebastian would succeed to the throne on Alonso's death. And they would have carried out their wicked purpose while their victim was asleep, but that Ariel woke him in good time.
Many tricks did Ariel play them.
Once he set a banquet before them, and just as they were going to fall to, he appeared to them amid thunder and lightning in the form of a harpy, and immediately the banquet disappeared. Then Ariel upbraided them with their sins and vanished too.
Prospero by his enchantments drew them all to the grove without his cell, where they waited, trembling and afraid, and now at last bitterly repenting them of their sins.
Prospero determined to make one last use of his magic power, "and then," said he, "I'll break my staff, and, deeper than did ever plummet sound, I'll drown my book."
So he made heavenly music to sound in the air, and appeared to them in his proper shape as the Duke of Milan. Because they repented, he forgave them and told them the story of his life since they had cruelly committed him and his 













baby daughter to the mercy of wind and waves.
Alonso, who seemed sorriest of them all for his past crimes lamented the loss of his heir. But Prospero drew back a curtain and showed them Ferdinand and Miranda playing at chess.
Great was Alonso's joy to greet his loved son again, and when he heard that the fair maid with whom Ferdinand was playing was Prospero's daughter, and that the young folks had plighted their troth, he said —
"Give me your hands; let grief and sorrow still embrace his heart that doth not wish you joy."
So all ended happily. The ship was safe in the harbour, and next day they all set sail for Naples, where Ferdinand and Miranda were to be married.
Ariel gave them calm seas and auspicious gales; and many were the rejoicings at the wedding.
Then Prospero, after many years of absence, went back to his own dukedom, where he was welcomed with great joy by his faithful subjects. 
He practised the arts of magic no more, but his life was happy, and not only because he had found his own again, but chiefly because, when his bitterest foes who had done him deadly wrong lay at his mercy, he took no vengeance on them, but nobly forgave them. 
As for Ariel, Prospero made him free as air, so that he could wander where he would, and sing with a light heart his sweet song —

    "Where the bee sucks, there suck I: 
    In a cowslip's bell I lie;
    There I couch when owls do cry.
    On the bat's back I do fly
    After summer, merrily:

    Merrily, merrily, shall I live now,
    Under the blossom that hangs on the bough."
第三章  第 十 二 夜
Chapter 3  Twelfth Night

奥西诺公爵一直单恋着奥莉韦亚女伯爵。正在奥西诺想要找一个人倾吐思念之情时，逃生而来的维奥拉给他当了听差。维奥拉还有一个孪生兄弟下落不明。
渐渐地维奥拉爱上了这位痴情、高贵的公爵，并曾暗中表示爱慕，可愚钝的奥西诺不但没察觉，还命维奥拉替他求爱。倔强坚强的维奥拉一来到奥莉韦亚面前，奥莉韦亚就爱上了女扮男装的维奥拉。奥莉韦亚对维奥拉的爱慕，引起了他的另一位追求者——安德鲁·格格契克的嫉妒。他与维奥拉进行了一场决斗。可实际上把安德鲁打败的却是维奥拉的孪生兄弟赛马斯蒂安。
赛马斯蒂安爱上了优雅的奥莉韦亚，奥莉韦亚还没来得及弄清这个小伙子不是维奥拉之前，两人就结了婚。事情从简单到复杂，又变回简单。奥西诺知道了维奥拉是女儿身，又得知了她对自己的爱恋，于是他们也变成了幸福的一对儿。


    RSINO, the Duke of Illyria, was deeply in love with a beautiful Countess, named Olivia. Yet was all his love in vain, for she disdained his suit; and when her brother died, she sent back a messenger from the Duke, bidding 













him tell his master that for seven years she would not let the very air behold her face, but that, like a nun, she would walk veiled; and all this for the sake of a dead brother's love, which she would keep fresh and lasting in her sad remembrance.
The Duke longed for some one to whom he could tell his sorrow, and repeat over and over again the story of his love. And chance brought him such a companion, for about this time a goodly ship was wrecked on the Illyrian coast, and among those who reached land in safety were the captain and a fair young maid, named Viola. But she was little grateful for being rescued from the perils of the sea, since she feared that her twin brother was drowned, Sebastian, as dear to her as the heart in her bosom, and so like her that, but for the difference in their manner of dress, one could hardly be told from the other. The Captain, for her comfort, told her that he had seen her brother bind himself to a strong mast that lived upon the sea, and that thus there was hope that he might be saved.
Viola now asked in whose country she was, and learning that the young Duke Orsino ruled there, and was as noble in his nature as in his name, she decided to disguise herself in male attire, and seek for employment with him as a page.
In this she succeeded, and now from day to day she had to listen to the story of Orsino's love. At first she sympathised very truly with him, but soon her sympathy grew to love. At last it occurred to Orsino that his hopeless love-suit might prosper better if he sent this pretty lad to woo Olivia for him. Viola unwillingly went on this errand, but when she came to the house, Malvolio, Olivia's steward, a vain, officious man, sick, as his mistress told him, of self-love, forbade the messenger admittance. Viola, however (who was now called Cesario), refused to take any denial, and vowed to have speech with the Countess. Olivia, hearing how her instructions were defied, and curious to see this daring youth, said, "We'll once more hear Orsino's embassy."
When Viola was admitted to her presence, and the servants had been sent away, she listened patiently to the reproaches which this bold messenger from the Duke poured upon her, and listening she fell in love with the supposed Cesario; and when Cesario had gone, Olivia longed to send some love-token after him. So, calling Malvolio, she bade him follow the boy.
"He left this ring behind him," she said, taking one from her finger. "Tell him I will none of it."
Malvolio did as he was bid, and then Viola, who, of course, knew perfectly well that she had left no ring behind her, saw, with a woman's quickness, that Olivia loved her. Then she went back to the Duke, very sad at heart for the lover, and for Olivia, and for herself.
It was but cold comfort she could give Orsino, who now sought to ease the pangs of despised love by listening to sweet music, while Cesario stood by his side.
"Ah!" said the Duke to his page that night, "you, too, have been in love."
"A little," answered Viola.
"What kind of woman is it?" he asked.
"Of your complexion," she answered.
"What years, i' faith!" was his next question.
To this came the pretty answer, "About your years, nay lordo."
"Too old, by Heaven!" cried the Duke. "Let still the woman take an elder than herself."
And Viola very meekly said, "I think it well, my lord."
By and by Orsino begged Cesario once more to visit Olivia and to plead his love-suit. But she, thinking to dissuade him, said —
"If some lady loved you as you love Olivia?"
"Ah! that cannot be," said the Duke.
"But I know," Viola went on, "what love woman may have for a man. My father had a daughter loved a man, as it might be," she added, blushing, "perhaps, were I a woman, I should love your lordship."
"And what is her history?" he asked.
"A blank, my lord," Viola answered. "She never told her love, but let concealment like a worm in the bud feed on her damask cheek: she pined in thought, and with a green and yellow melancholy she sat, like Patience on a monument, smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed?"
"But died thy sister of her love, my boy?" the Duke asked; and Viola, who had all the time been telling her own love for him in this pretty fashion, said —
"I am all the daughters my father has and all the brothers. Sir, shall I go to the lady?"
"To her in haste," said the Duke, at once forgetting all about the story, "and give her this jewel."
So Viola went, and this time poor Olivia was unable to hide her love,      and openly confessed it with such passionate truth that Viola left her hastily, saying —
"Nevermore will I deplore my master's tears to you."
But in vowing this, Viola did not know the tender pity she would feel for others' suffering. So when Olivia, in the violence of her love, sent a messenger, praying Cesario to visit her once more, Cesario had no heart to refuse the request.
But the favours which Olivia bestowed upon this mere page aroused the jealousy of Sir Andrew Aguecheek, a foolish, rejected lover of hers, who at that time was staying at her house with her merry old uncle Sir Toby. This same Sir Toby dearly loved a practical joke, and knowing Sir Andrew to be an arrant coward, he thought that if he could bring off a duel between him and Cesario, there would be brave sport indeed. So he induced Sir Andrew to send a challenge, which he himself took to Cesario. The poor page in great terror, said —
"I will return again to the house; I am no fighter."
"Back you shall not to the house," said Sir Toby, "unless you fight me first."
And as he looked a very fierce old gentleman, Viola thought it best to await Sir Andrew's coming; and when he at last made his appearance, in a great fright, if the truth had been known, she tremblingly drew her sword, and Sir Andrew in like fear followed her example. Happily for them both, at this moment some officers of the Court came on the scene, and stopped the intended duel. Viola gladly made off with what speed she might, while Sir Toby called after her — "A very paltry boy, and more a coward than a hare!"
Now while these things were happening, Sebastian had escaped all the dangers of the deep, and had landed safely in Illyria, where he determined to make his way to the Duke's Court. On his way thither he passed Olivia's house just as Viola had left it in such a hurry, and whom should he meet but Sir Andrew and Sir Toby. Sir Andrew, mistaking Sebastian for the cowardly Cesario, took his courage in both hands, and walking up to him struck him, saying, "There's for you!"
"Why, there's for you; and there, and there!" said Sebastian, hitting back a great deal harder, and again and again, till Sir Toby came to the rescue of his friend. Sebastian, however, tore himself free from Sir Toby's clutches, and drawing his sword would have fought them both, but that Olivia herself, having heard of the quarrel, came running in, and with many reproaches sent Sir Toby and his friend away. Then turning to Sebastian, whom she, too, thought to be Cesario, she besought him with many a pretty speech to come into the house with her.
Sebastian, half dazed and all delighted with her beauty and grace, readily consented, and that very day, so great was Olivia's haste, they were married before she had discovered that he was not Cesario, or Sebastian was quite certain whether or not he was in a dream. 
Meanwhile Orsino, hearing how ill Cesario sped with Olivia, visited her himself, taking Cesario with him. Olivia met them before her door, and seeing, as she thought, her husband there, reproached him for leaving her, while to the Duke she said that his suit was as fat and wholesome to her as howling after music.
"Still so cruel?" said Orsino.
"Still so constant," she answered.
Then Orsino's anger growing to cruelty, he vowed that, to be revenged on her, he would kill Cesario, whom he knew she loved.
          The Classic Stories From           Shakespeare and Dickens

               When Shakespeare            was a Boy

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          The Classic Stories From           Shakespeare and Dickens

                         The            Tempest

                   The Winter's            Tales