Henslowe. Oh, the Fitton! Now I see light through the wood!
Shakespeare. What’s that you say?
Henslowe. I say that the Queen shall know where the blame lies.
Shakespeare. You lie. I heard you. I saw you twist your lips round a white name.
Henslowe. Will! Will! Will!
Shakespeare. Did you not?
Henslowe. Why, Will, you have friends, though you fray ’em to the parting of endurance.
Shakespeare. What’s this?
Henslowe. I say you have friends that see what they see, and are sorry.
Shakespeare. Yes, I am blessed in one man and woman who do not use me as a beast to be milked dry. I have Marlowe and—