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John was looking at the playbook．
约翰正在翻阅剧本。
You see this bit here，Toby，he said．
托比，你瞧这段话，他说道，
Will's writing about his son，isn't he？
威尔分明在写他的儿子，是吗？
I read the words slowly，and remembered Will's empty eyes that day in August．
我细细地回味这段话，眼前又浮现出八月那天威尔一双失神的眼睛。
Grief fills the room up of my absent child，
悲哀填满了我那不在跟前的孩子的房间，
Lies in his bed，walks up and down with me，
躺在他的床上，陪着我到东到西，
Puts on his pretty looks，repeats his words…
装扮出他美妙的神情，复述着他的言语…
Richard Burbage said once that Will's writing changed after Hamnet's death．
理查·白贝芝也曾讲过。哈姆奈特死后，威尔的创作风格迥然不同。
Will still laughed at people in his plays，
威尔照样在剧本上讥讽世人，
but he also felt sorry for them—sorry for all the world，good and bad，rich and poor，young and old．And his people were real．
但也对人们寄予无限的同情—同情全世界的人，不论好与坏、贫与富、长与幼。他塑造的人物是真实的。
No one was all good， or all bad．
世上本无十全十美的好人，也无十恶不赦的坏人。
There was a man called Shylock in his play The Merchant of Venice．
《威尼斯商人》一剧就是最好的例证。
This Shylock was a money-lender and a cruel man—everyone hated him．
剧中的夏洛克是个残忍无情的高利贷者—每个人都憎恨他，
But in the end，when Shylock lost everything，you had to feel sorry for him．
但故事最终，当夏洛克倾家荡产之后，你又不得不起恻隐之心。
He was just a sad old man．
他毕竟只是个可悲的老头。
Perhaps Richard was right．And if anyone understood Will，it was Richard Burbage．
或许理查说得对，要说世上还有谁了解威尔，也就是理查·白贝芝了。
