In the glory days of the Elizabethan theatre two playhouses were fighting it out for writers and audiences. Tilney, what is this? We can read part of it.
VIOLA wakes with a start. Exeunt all the Commoners. He hears only that Juliet is dead. The light in the room is extinguished.
WILL looks down the alley: Next to her is a tray of covered dishes. You are writing it for me! She kisses him on the mouth and jumps out of the boat.
The closeness does the rest. He claws at it and tries to throw it away.
VIOLA gives him a shove which pushes him onto the floor. WILL thrusts the pages into the coals. And then she wakes and sees him dead.
It does no harm and authors like it. WILL Constantly. And into this heaving composition comes a little white mouse, unseen my them, climbing through a knot hole in the planking behind VIOLA'S head. The early morning rose would wither on the branch, if it could feel envy!
I only stole it. I want it ploughed into the ground, and sown with quick lime!