“I am deep in the third act,” answered Marlowe, picking up a page of the manuscript of Romeo and Juliet, which lay scattered over the top of the table “And what think you of this as the speech of a love-lorn maiden?
Gallop apace you fiery-footed steeds
Toward Phoebus’ mansion; such a waggoner
As Phaeton would whip you to the West,
And-bring in cloudy night immediately.”
He would have continued, but Peele interrupted: “Hold! you have put similar language in the mouth of Edward II, descriptive of his desire for the shortening of time before battle. I recollect it well; thus:
‘Gallop apace, bright Phoebus, through the sky;
And dusky night in rusty iron car,
Between you both shorten the time, I pray,
That I may see that most desired day.’”
“Well?” exclaimed Marlowe.
“You must change it,” said Shakespere.
“Why should I?” retorted Marlowe, “a man cannot commit plagiary on his own writings; and, although the style of composition is similar, and the figure is used in both places to rail against the slowness of time, you must acknowledge that they are both appropriate in their places.”
“Now this has brought me to the very subject which I came here to talk over with you,” responded Peele.
“Ah, so you are the first one to draw the sword? Has the presentment of my latest drama at the Rose awakened thy unfavorable opinion? Was the fault with the players or with myself?”
“Your work improves with every line you write,” said Peele, enthusiastically, “but still with all the increase of learning displayed, the growing compactness of expression, the sustained fire, the maturity of thought, the diverseness of opinion, the wondrous expanse of human horizon disclosed,—thy style is stamped indisputably upon every passage.”