Why a line of William Shakespeare can last for life For me, the most extraordinary example of the transformational powers of his writing occurred in the Seventies, when I appeared in a touring production of The Taming of the Shrew that was booked to play at a women's prison near York. The inmates included a fair few of the country's most notorious females, some of whom, we were informed, would be in the audience. Many of the women had suffered domestic violence and mental imprisonment at the hands of dominant male partners - issues dealt with by the drama. As a cast, we approached the evening with some trepidation - would they view this as establishment hokum performed by meddling luvvies? Yet our preconceptions were confounded. The audience was transfixed, each woman identifying with the predicament of the heroine, Katherine, through their own experiences. Kate's final speech, in which she finally submits to Petruchio, was greeted by vehement denunciations, by raucous applause, and by moist-eyed silence. Afterwards, we sat with the women as they debated the issues and human dilemmas ignited by the play. There could be no better testament to Shakespeare's continuing ability to tap into the human spirit. But perhaps the playwright's true genius lies in his ability to surprise even gnarled old thesps like me. In May, I found myself listening to Dame Judi Dench being interviewed on the Today programme about her love of his plays. At the end, James Naughtie asked if she would recite some of her favourite verse, a request that seemed momentarily to wrongfoot her. After a brief pause, she plumped for a few lines from Antony and Cleopatra, a play in which I had appeared at Chichester Festival Theatre and which I certainly didn't need to hear again at 7.30 on a rainy Thursday morning. Yet before my hand could reach for the off switch, she began, with infinite tenderness, to recite Cleopatra's tribute to her deceased lover: His legs bestrid the ocean: his rear'd arm Crested the world: his voice was propertied As all the tuned spheres, and that to friends; But when he meant to quail and shake the orb, He was as rattling thunder. For his bounty, There was no winter in't; an autumn "twas That grew the more by reaping. I don't know whether it was Shakespeare's genius or Dame Judi's, or merely the fact that I was still in my pyjamas with my guard down, but by the time she finished, I was crying like a baby.