At the beginning of Josephine Preston Peabody’s quaint verse play Marlowe there’s this little scene, in which two groundlings walk in a tavern. One of them comes from the playhouse, where he just saw the new play, Faustus, and is full of the wonders of it.

Little he knows that the young men egging him on are the Wits – poets, playwrights, and friends to the author of Faustus… Continue reading →