For, after all, in spite of the thousands of books that have been
written since the world began, there are only a certain number of
stories which great writers have told again and again in varying
ways. One instance of this we saw when in the beginning of this
book we followed the story of Arthur.

But although Shakespeare borrowed his plots from others, when he
had borrowed them he made them all his own. He made his people
so vivid and so true that he makes us forget that they are not
real people. We can hardly realize that they never lived, that
they never walked and talked, and cried and laughed, loved and
hated, in this world just as we do. And this is so because the
stage to him is life and life a stage. "All the world's a
stage," he says,

"And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances:
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages."*

*As You Like It.

And again he tells us:

"Life's but a walking shadow; a poor player,
That struts and frets his hour upon the stage
And then is heard no more."*

*Macbeth.