For Grigori Kozintsev, writing the journal about his film, Karol Lir, that turned out so splendidly, Lear surprises us with everything he says and does: ‘From the very first moment his every action is unexpected: it is impossible to guess what he will do next, what tricks he is capable of . . .’ For Stephen Booth in his provocative essay, each sequence in Hamlet should surprise us: ‘From its very first lines, Hamlet frustrates and fulfills expectations simultaneously. . . . The audience’s sensation of being unexpectedly and very slightly out of step is repeated regularly.’

Yet these statements can be reversed, in effect, and the alternative perspectives seem to me valid as well, even though it is difficult to find careful, probing discussion of the ways in which what we expect shapes how we interpret. Unless we anticipate, however wrongly, there can be very little surprise, no frustration, no fulfilment. Most of us 'know' or all-but-know from the first scene of The Merchant of Venice that none of Antonio's ships will return quickly and safely. Later we feel sure that Shylock will not manage to gain his pound of Antonio's flesh. Probably none of us expects Benedick to carry out Beatrice's command: 'Kill Claudio.' And when we read Measure for Measure, do we for long expect Angelo to succeed in killing the other Claudio?