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“Now does he feel his title/Hang loose about him, like a giant’s robe/Upon a dwarfish thief,” a thane observes in the final act.

When we say that something in our contemporary politics — say, a minor thane with murderous aspiration to absolute power — is Shakespearean, we are essentially saying it has the character of something from the Tudor age.

Not only him, by any means: the ensemble of thanes and wives, hired killers and servants, witches and children is pretty much flawless.

On Mr Norris’s cue, he became the thane, hand clutched to his pate in anguish, eyes aglow.

It was settled 1,000 years ago, give or take, when the king gave land to one of his thanes, Earl Aelfheah.