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Donna N. Murphy
How Shakespeare Thought Like Marlowe


Marlowe was a trail blazer; as Una Ellis-Fermor put it, he “called no man father but himself.” [1] 
Shakespeare, on the other hand, called Marlowe “Dad.” “Without Marlowe, there would never have been the William Shakespeare whom we know,” said T. M. Parrott. [2]  Maurice Charney remarked, “In some important sense Marlowe’s plays are embedded in Shakespeare’s. One can discover residual traces everywhere.” [3]

Indeed, the works of Marlowe and Shakespeare are connected at a deep, at times subconscious, level. The “two” appeared to think alike in a highly uncommon manner.

The similarities between Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta and Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice; Marlowe’s Edward II and Shakespeare’s Richard II; Marlowe’s I and II Tamburlaine and Shakespeare’s Henry V; and Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus and Shakespeare’s The Tempest are well known and often remarked upon. [4]

Moreover, in The Marlowe-Shakespeare Continuum, I weave a web of linguistic, logic-based, and other interconnections between the works of Marlowe and Shakespeare’s II Henry VI, III Henry VI, Titus Andronicus, Romeo and Juliet, I Henry IV and Edward III.

The examples provided below are an entirely different batch.

Following are twelve examples of similarities in thinking that link nine different pieces by Marlowe (The Massacre of Paris, I and II Tamburlaine, Doctor Faustus, The Jew of Malta, Edward II, Ovid’s Elegies, Hero and Leander, and Lucan’s First Book) and twelve distinct pieces by Shakespeare.

Since it is now recognized that some works by Shakespeare were co-authorships, I add the caveat that the examples below are from sections of Shakespeare I find to have been written by Marlowe. Running word associations through EEBO helps us to determine whether similar word juxtapositions were uncommon. “EEBO” stands for Early English Books Online-Text Creation Partnership, a searchable database made up of 32,863 full texts of works written from 1472 to 1700 at the time of my study. I used EEBO to perform the negative test:  to demonstrate that the juxtapositions were extremely uncommon within other plays and literature of the period.

I have adopted the following EEBO terminology: “fby.10” = “followed by,” the second term follows within ten words of the first term; “near.20” = the second term occurs within twenty words either before or after the first; and “*” = a placeholder for endings, such that “wind*” will find “winds,” “window,” “windmills,” etc.

One could chalk up any given similarity to imitation or influence. The nature, scope and breadth of parallels between the two over the course of Shakespeare’s entire career, however, soundly support the theory that Marlowe faked his own death in order to avoid execution as a “heretic” by the Church of England in 1593. They roundly support the theory that he continued writing, sometimes with others, the works of the Shakespeare canon, employing William Shakspere as a front man.


1. The Massacre at Paris and King John

We find “Religion* near.30 league* near.30 knit* near.30 hand*” in EEBO only in The Massacre at Paris and King John. Both excerpts also have in common “link*” and “marriage/married.”

In The Massacre at Paris, King Charles is speaking of the marriage between the Protestant King of Navarre and the Catholic Margaret, followed less than a week later by the French Catholics’ massacre of Protestants, who had flocked to Paris for the ceremony. The wedding King John speaks of is between the Dauphin of France and the King of England’s niece, Blanch of Spain, intended to stave off war between France and England. The day of the wedding, however, England offends the legate of the Pope, and the King of France commences war upon England to defend the Catholic faith. The similarity in aftermaths of these ill-fated marriages may have subconsciously evoked the similarity in language.

Marlowe’s The Massacre at Paris:

Charles. I wish this union and this religious league,
Knit in these hands, thus joined in nuptial rites…
Catherine. Thanks, son Navarre, you see we love you well
That link you in marriage with our daughter, here;
And, as you know, our difference in religion
Might be a means to cross you in your love. (Scene i.3-4, 13-16)

Shakespeare’s King John:

This royal hand and mine are newly knit,
And the conjunction of our inward souls
Married in league, coupled and linked together
With all religious strength of sacred vows; (III.i.152-5)                 


2. Ovid’s Elegies and Richard II

 

“Wrath-kindled,” adjective, appears in only two works in EEBO: Ovid’s Elegies and Richard II. In both cases, the adjective is followed by a noun beginning with the “j” sound. While works did circulate in manuscript, it is worth noting that Ovid’s Elegies was unpublished at the time Richard II was written.

Marlowe’s Ovid’s Elegies:

She laughed, and kissed so sweetly as might make
Wrath-kindled Jove away his thunder shake (Book II Elegia V.51-2)

Shakespeare’s Richard II:

Wrath-kindled gentlemen, be ruled by me. (I.i.152)


3. Edward II and The Comedy of Errors

“Puddl* near.50 beard*” appears in EEBO only in Richard Baker’s A Chronicle of the Kings of England, 1640—describing what happened to Edward II—Edward II, and The Comedy of Errors.

Both of these plays contain a bizarre association between beards and puddles, as well as one between puddles and mire. In Edward II, the king is made to stand in puddle water during his Tower-of-London imprisonment. Gurny washes Edward’s face in the filthy water, shaves off the king’s beard so no one will recognize him, and later assists the evil Lightborn in killing the king. The Comedy of Errors appears to recollect this scene in the mocking of the conjurer, who also loses his beard and is drenched in puddle water. It is feared that he will be killed. The Comedy of Errors does not imitate Edward II, but rather seems to exhibit a subliminal interconnection.

Marlowe’s Edward II:                                                

Edward. What, will you murder me,
Or choke your sovereign with puddle water?
Gurney. No, but wash your face, and shave away your beard,
Lest you be known, and so be rescued. (Scene xxiii.29-32)

And there in mire and puddle have I stood (Scene xxv.59)

Shakespeare’s The Comedy of Errors:

Whose beard they have singed off with brands of fire,
And ever as it blazed they threw on him
Great pails of puddled mire to quench the hair…
And sure—unless you send some present help—
Between them they will kill the conjurer. (V.i.172-4, 177-8)


4. Doctor Faustus and Richard III

 

In the tone-setting opening soliloquies by the title characters in Doctor Faustus and Richard III, both of these overreachers express the notion that they ought to be happy. Faustus’ bills are “hung up as monuments,” for example, but he is not satisfied: he wishes to be immortal, and will therefore choose to sign over his soul to the devil. In Richard III, the war is over and bruised arms are “hung up for monuments,” for example, but he is not satisfied. Richard is determined to be a villain and has laid plots to set his two brothers, one of whom is king, against each other in a chain of events that will lead to his gaining the throne.

 

The authors of both plays understood the dramatic power of beginning speeches with the word “now,” linked to phrases beginning with “and.” The Richard III soliloquy is better than the one from Doctor Faustus, but then it was written about five years later. Its playwright penned Richard III before Doctor Faustus appeared in print.

Marlowe’s Doctor Faustus:

 

Settle thy studies, Faustus, and begin

To sound the depth of that thou wilt profess.

Having commenced, be a divine in show,

Yet level at the end of every art…

Why Faustus, hast thou not attained that end?

Is not thy common talk sound aphorisms?

Are not thy bills hung up as monuments,

Whereby whole cities have escaped the plague

And thousand desp’rate maladies been eased?

Yet art thou still but Faustus, and a man.

Wouldst thou make man to live eternally (Scene i.1-4, 17-24)

 

Now that the gloomy shadow of the earth,

Longing to view Orion’s drizzling look

Leaps from th’Antactic world unto the sky

And dims the welkin with her pitchy breath (Scene iii.1-4)

 
Shakespeare’s Richard III:

 

Now is the winter of our discontent

Made glorious summer by this sun of York;

And all the clouds that loured upon our house

In the deep bosom of the ocean buried.

Now are our brows bound with victorious wreaths,

Our bruisèd arms hung up for monuments,

Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings,

Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. 

Grim-visaged war hath smoothed his wrinkled front,

And now—instead of mounting barbèd steeds,

To fright the souls of fearful adversaries--

He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber

To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.

But I, that am not shaped for sportive tricks

Nor made to court an amorous looking-glass, (I.i.1-15) 


5. I Tamburlaine and Julius Caesar

“Rhym* near.50 jigging” occurs in EEBO only within these two plays plus John Taylor’s The Nipping and Snipping of Abuses, 1614. Unlike Taylor, both play passages also include “war*” plus “clown*” or “fool*.”

The I Tamburlaine Prologue talks of rhyming clowns, contrasting them with the serious business of war. Julius Caesar shows it. In a battlefield encampment, a rhyming poet tells Cassius and Brutus to stop arguing. Brutus counters that the poet is a jigging fool, misplaced among men preparing for war. Julius Caesar recollects I Tamburlaine without copying it.

Marlowe’s I Tamburlaine:

From jigging veins of rhyming mother-wits
And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay,
We’ll lead you to the stately tent of war (Prologue.1-3)

Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar:

Poet. Love, and be friends, as two such men should be,
For I have seen more years, I’m sure, than ye.
Cassius. Ha, ha! How vilely doth this cynic rhyme!
Brutus. Get you hence, sirrah; saucy fellow, hence!
Cassius. Bear with him, Brutus, ‘tis his fashion.
Brutus. I'll know his humour, when he knows his time:
What should the wars do with these jigging fools? (IV.ii.183-9)

 

6. Hero and Leander and Venus and Adonis

For variety’s sake, I turn to a Marlowe/Shakespeare pairing that is well known to scholars.[5] According to Marlowe biographer John Bakeless, Marlowe’s epic love poem “Hero and Leander influenced Shakespeare directly and powerfully when he was writing Venus and Adonis.”[6] Apparently, we are to envision Shakespeare writing his epic poem with the manuscript of Marlowe’s work at his elbow, since Hero and Leander was unpublished at the time of Venus and Adonis’ composition.

The two poems contain plentiful examples of shared, uncommon parallels of language and thought that is sometimes echoed in later Shakespeare works. Following is a partial list.

a. Shakespeare’s primary source for Venus and Adonis was Ovid’s Metamorphoses, which also contains the only known extended telling of the myth of Narcissus. But in Ovid’s account of Narcissus, there is no mention of him kissing his shadow. There is in Hero and Leander [7]:

Marlowe’s Hero and Leander (said of Narcissus):

That leaped into the water for a kiss
Of his own shadow (Sestiad I.74-5)

Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis:

Narcissus so himself himself forsook,
And died to kiss his shadow in the brook. (161-2)

Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice:

Some there be that shadows kiss
Such have but a shadow’s bliss. (II.ix.65-6)


b.
The occurrence of “rose-cheeked Adonis” is rare in EEBO, but occurs in both Hero and Leander  and Venus and Adonis.

Marlowe’s Hero and Leander:

For his sake whom their goddess [Venus] held so dear,
Rose-cheeked Adonis (Sestiad I.92-3)

Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis:

Rose-cheek’d Adonis hied him to the chase. (3)


c.
Both poems contain images of a willful horse that breaks his reins:

Marlowe’s Hero and Leander:

For as a hot proud horse highly disdains
To have his head controlled, but breaks the reins (Sestiad II.141-2)

Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis:

The strong-necked steed, being tied unto a tree,
Breaketh his rein, and to her straight goes he. (263-4)


d.
Another parallel, which extends to Romeo and Juliet, revolves around one person breathing life into another’s lips:               

Marlowe’s Hero and Leander: 

By this, sad Hero, with love unacquainted,
Viewing Leander’s face, fell down and fainted.
He kissed her, and breathed life into her lips (Sestiad II.1-3)

Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis:

For on the grass she lies as she were slain,
Till his breath breatheth life in her again. (473-4)

 Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet:

I dreamt my lady came and found me dead
Strange dream, that gives a dead man leave to think!—
And breathed such life with kisses in my lips
That I revived and was an emperor. (V.i.6-9)


e.
Both poems express the thought that love is “too credulous”:

Marlowe’s Hero and Leander:

Love is too full of faith, too credulous,
With folly and false hope deluding us. (Sestiad II.221-2)

Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis:

O hard-believing love—how strange it seems
Not to believe, and yet too credulous! (985-6)


f.
Hero and Leander, Venus and Adonus, and Sonnets 1-17 employ skillful rhetoric to convince someone to make love and reproduce. All three, within a similar context, mention “treasure,” “put to loan/put to use,” and returns upon use: “two for one/ten for one/more gold begets.”

Marlowe’s Hero and Leander:

Like untuned golden strings all women are,
Which long time lie untouched will harshly jar.
Vessels of brass oft handled brightly shine;
What difference betwixt the richest mine
And basest mold but use? for both, not used,
Are of like worth. Then treasure is abused
When misers keep it; being put to loan,
In time it will return us two for one
The richest corn dies, if it be not reaped;
Beauty alone is lost, too warily kept. (Sestiad I 229-36, 327-8)

Shakespeare’s Venus and Adonis:

Torches are made to light, jewels to wear,
Dainties to taste, fresh beauty for the use…
By law of nature thou art bound to breed,
That thine may live when thou thyself art dead;
And so in spite of death thou dost survive,
In that thy likeness still is left alive…
Foul-cank’ring rust the hidden treasure frets,
But gold that’s put to use more gold begets. (163-4, 171-4, 767-8)

Shakespeare’s Sonnet 6:

Then let not winter’s ragged hand deface
In thee thy summer, ere thou be distilled.
Make sweet some vial, treasure thou some place
With beauty’s treasure, ere it be self-killed.
That use is not forbidden usury
Which happies those that pay the willing loan:
That’s for thyself to breed another thee,
Or ten times happier, be it ten for one; (1-8)


7. II Tamburlaine and Othello

 “Provender near.20 whip*” is found in EEBO only in II Tamburlaine; Othello; Wye Saltonstall’s The Country Mouse and the City Mouse, 1637; and Wolfgang Franz’s The History of Brutes, 1670.  

Marlowe’s conqueror Tamburlaine taunts his captured kings, yokes them together and forces them to draw his chariot, hence the unusual collocation of “whip” and “provender,” plus “like my horses.” In the second excerpt, Callapine, a former prisoner of Tamburlaine, ruminates over the bondage that he and others suffered.

Othello contains similar, subtle associations, mentioning a man who is yoked, drawing with another, someone who dotes upon his bondage, “like his master’s ass,” “provender” and “whip.” It seems that when Othello’s playwright infused Iago with contempt for his boss, he held in mind the contempt Tamburlaine felt toward his captive kings.

It is also of interest that in EEBO, “In near.5 stable* near.5 plank*” occurs only in the above quote from II Tamburlaine: “And in a stable lie upon the planks” (III.v.107); Shakespeare’s King John: “To crouch in litter of your stable planks” (V.ii.140), both times referring to men rather than animals; plus Ludwig Lavater’s Of Ghostes and Spirites Walking by Nyght, 1572.

Marlowe’s II Tamburlaine:

Tamburlaine. But as for you, viceroy, you shall have bits
And, harnessed like my horses, draw my coach,
And, when ye stay, be lashed with whips of wire.
I'll have you learn to feed on provender,
And in a stable lie upon the planks. (III.v.103-7)

Callapine. When I record my parents’ slavish life,
Their cruel death, mine own captivity,
My viceroys' bondage under Tamburlaine (V.ii.19-21)

Shakespeare’s Othello:

Iago. Many a duteous and knee-crooking knave, 
That, doting on his own obsequious bondage,
Wears out his time, much like his master’s ass
For naught but provender, and when he’s old, cashiered.
Whip me such honest knaves. (I.i.45-9)                                                                     

Iago. Good sir, be a man.
Think every bearded fellow that’s but yoked
May draw with you. (IV.i.64-6)

 

8. The Jew of Malta and The Taming of the Shrew

Nautical references and analogies were common in English Renaissance literature, and poets Spenser, Sidney, Greene, Oxford, Lodge, Jonson, Munday, Watson, Daniel, Chapman, Raleigh and Marlowe all sailed the high seas. Christopher Marlowe went out of his way to include nautical imagery, placing a larger emphasis than necessary for the needs of the story on Aenaes’ ships in Dido, Queen of Carthage and on Barabas’ merchant fleet in The Jew of Malta.

One could make a game out of finding maritime allusions in the works of Shakespeare: pay a child a coin for each sighting, and she would end up the wiser, with a pocketful of spending money. An example of how nautical references are hardwired into Shakespeare’s works appears in the last two lines of an otherwise non-maritime passage in All’s Well That Ends Well:

The great’st grace lending grace,

Ere twice the horses of the sun shall bring

Their fiery coacher his diurnal ring,

Ere twice in murk and occidental damp

Moist Hesperus hath quenched his sleepy lamp,

Or four-and-twenty times the pilot’s glass

Hath told the thievish minutes how they pass, (II.i.160-6)

The pilot’s glass is the hourglass belonging to the navigator of a ship; it is mentioned as “three glasses since” by the Botswain in The Tempest. Any author could insert clichéd references to a wave-tossed ship, but an offhand connection between an hourglass and a ship’s pilot strikes me as the mark of a sea voyager. Naval Lieutenant Alexander F. Falconer wrote a book about Shakespeare’s easy and ready knowledge of the sea, which Falconer maintained must have been learned firsthand.[8]
It is unfortunate that researchers have yet to uncover any evidence that William Shakspere stepped foot off the island of Britain.

It is also curious that both Marlowe and Shakespeare include a rare juxtaposition of “argosy,” a merchant vessel of the largest size, and “road,” a sheltered portion of water near the shore where ships could safely lie at anchor. “Argosy* near.50 road* [noun]” makes appearances in EEBO only in Hercules Oetaeus in Seneca his Tenne Tragedies, 1581, translated by John Studley, and the following two plays:

Marlowe’s Jew of Malta:

Thine argosy from Alexandria,
Know, Barabas, doth ride in Malta road (I.i.84)

Shakespeare’s The Taming of the Shrew:

That she shall have; besides, an argosy
That now is lying in Marseilles road. (II.i.370-1) 

One might argue that The Jew of Malta and The Taming of the Shrew derived the juxtaposition independently from Seneca (whom “both” authors read), but no translation of Seneca in searchable EEBO has boats that “lie” in road as occurs in the above The Taming of the Shrew quote, while two other Marlowe plays do:

Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta:

A fleet of warlike galleys, Barabas,
Are come from Turkey and lie in our road (I.i.144-5)

Marlowe’s Dido, Queen of Carthage:

Why are thy ships new rigged? Or to what end,
Launched from the haven, lie they in the road? (V.i.88-9)

 

9. Doctor Faustus and The Merchant of Venice

“Take* near.30 devil* give [all forms] fby.5 good*” appears only in Doctor Faustus; The Merchant of Venice; Thomas Randall’s play Aristippus, 1630; and Thomas Taylor’s The Second Part of Gods Theater of Judgment, 1642.

 

In Doctor Faustus, the connection to the devil is literal. Faustus speaks as he is handing over the deed—a binding document—of his soul to the devil. In The Merchant of Venice, Shylock is figuratively connected to the devil, demanding not a soul, but a pound of flesh, which will cause death. Here Portia and Shylock discuss the forfeiture of a bond, another binding document, in Scene i of Act IV, a scene which also contains the words “deed” and “deliver.”

Marlowe’s Faustus:

 

Mephistopheles. Speak Faustus. Do you deliver this as your deed?

Faustus. Ay. Take it, and the devil give thee good on't. (Scene v.112-3)

Shakespeare’s The Merchant of Venice:

Bassino. I would lose all, ay, sacrifice them all
Here to this devil [Shylock], to deliver you…

Portia. Thou shalt have nothing but the forfeiture
To be so taken at thy peril, Jew.
Shylock. Why then, the devil give him good of it...

Portia. Clerk, draw a deed of gift. (IV.i.283-4, 340-2, 392) [9]

 

10. Edward II and Hamlet

 

Dalton and Mary Jean Gross pointed out that Lightborn, the assassin in Edward II, describes the same method of clever, undetectable murder that is practiced upon Hamlet’s father, which involves putting poison in the ear. [10] Both accounts employ the words “pour,” “quicksilver,” and “ears.”

 

Moreover, the poisonous juice, spelled “hebonon” in Hamlet Q1, is mentioned in a different play by Marlowe, The Jew of Malta: “juice of hebon” (III.iv.102). These are the only two occurrences in EEBO of Juice* near.10 hebon*/heben*. Indeed, the definition for “Hebenon/hebon/hebona” in the OED states: “Names given by Shakespeare and Marlowe to some substance having a poisonous juice.” The Jew of Malta was first published about thirty years after the penning of Hamlet.

Marlowe’s Edward II:

 

I learned in Naples how to poison flowers,

To strangle with a lawn thrust through the throat,

To piece the windpipe with a needle’s point,

Or, whilst one is asleep, to take a quill

And blow a little powder in his ears,

Or open his mouth and pour quicksilver down (Scene 24.30-5)

Shakespeare’s Hamlet:

Upon my secure hour thy uncle stole,

With juice of cursèd hebenon in a vial,

And in the porches of my ears did pour

The leperous distilment, whose effect

Holds such an enmity with blood of man

That swift as quicksilver it courses through

The natural gates and alleys of the body (I.v.61-7)

 

While we’re on the subject, Hamlet contains a rare similarity with yet a third work by Marlowe:

Marlowe’s Lucan’s First Book:

 

Shaking her snaky hair and crooked pine

with flaming top (571-2)

Shakespeare’s Hamlet:

 

Then senseless Ilium,

Seeming to feel his blow, with flaming top

Stoops to his base, (II.ii.477-9)

 

Thomas Merriam observed that the phrase appears to derive from Seneca his Ten Tragedies, 1581, where it occurs as: “And ougly Shrubs necessity mee drives, whose flaming toppes detarres the feeding Oxe” (190v). [11] This is the first occurrence of “flaming top*” in EEBO and there is only one other, in An Essay Upon Statius, 1648. Note also: “He fires the proud tops of the eastern pines” (Richard II III.ii.42).

 

11. II Tamburlaine and Lear

 

We find the largest number of parallels between works traditionally assigned to Marlowe and Shakespeare’s early work. Amazingly, though, Shakespeare still thought like Marlowe over twenty years later, as the play pairings in the following two examples indicate—with King Lear, written c. 1605-6, and Anthony and Cleopatra, c. 1606-7.

 

Mark Hutchings reported striking similarities between the last scene of II Tamburlaine and the first scene of King Lear.[12] In II Tamburlaine, the aged, dying Tamburlaine calls for a map to trace his conquests, gives it to his two sons, and tells them to conquer more land, imparting his soul’s impressions by equal portions into both their breasts. Tamburlaine has already killed his third son, who displeased him. In King Lear the aged King Lear calls for a map to show how he will divide the kingdom between his three daughters, but one of them displeases him, so he disinherits her.

Marlowe’s II Tamburlaine, written c. 1587:

Give me a map, then, let me see how much
Is left for me to conquer all the world,
That these my boys may finish all my wants. (V.iii.123-5)

Shakespeare’s King Lear, written c. 1605-6:

Give me the map there. Know that we have divided
In three our kingdom; and 'tis our fast intent
To shake all cares and business from our age,
Conferring them on younger strengths, while we
Unburthen’d crawl toward death. (I.i.39-43) [13]

 

12. Dido, Queen of Carthage and Antony and Cleopatra:

The phrase “dry* with grief” occurs in EEBO in Dido, Queen of Carthage and Antony and Cleopatra and only a few other instances. In the first excerpt, Aenaes is expressing his grief over the fall of his beloved Troy, while in the second, Domitius Enobarbus repents that he has betrayed Antony. Both plays associate “Dry* with grief” with transformation. In the first case, Niobe, dry with grief, turns into a stone, while in the second, a heart, dry with grief, breaks into a powder.

 

Marlowe’s Dido, Queen of Carthage, written c. 1588:

Theban Niobe,
Who for her sons’ death wept out life and breath,
And, dry with grief, was turned into a stone (II.i.3-5)

Shakespeare’s Antony and Cleopatra, written c. 1606-7:

Throw my heart
Against the flint and hardness of my fault,

Which, being dried with grief, will break to powder, (IV.x.14-16)

In conclusion, I have shown how nine different Marlowe works are connected at a deep level to twelve Shakespeare works. Reasoning based upon “Marlowe’s influence upon Shakespeare” is inadequate to explain this level of connectivity.

By Donna N. Murphy 2015. All rights reserved.



[1] Una M. Ellis-Fermor, “Marlowe and Greene: A Note on Their Relations as Dramatic Artists,” Studies in Honor of T.W. Baldwin, ed. Don Cameron Allen (Urbana, IL: University of Illinois Press, 1958), 149. The statement is not quite true if one believes, as do many scholars, that Edward II was written after the first versions of II and III Henry VI, given their numerous similarities. I view all three to have been written by Marlowe, with the first version of II Henry VI a co-authorship with Thomas Nashe.

[2] Quoted in Daryl Pinksen, Marlowe’s Ghost, (Bloomington, IN: iUniverse, 2008), 8.

[3] Maurice Charney, “The Voice of Marlowe’s Tamburlaine in Early Shakespeare,” Comparative Drama 31 (1997): 213-23, 213.

[4] See, for example, Robert A. Logan, Shakespeare’s Marlowe (Burlington, VT: Ashgate Publishing Co., 2007); Robert A. Logan, “‘Glutted with Conceit’: Imprints of Doctor Faustus on The Tempest,” in Placing the Plays of Christopher Marlowe. Fresh Cultural Contexts, ed. Sarah Munson Deats and Robert A. Logan (Burlington, VT: Ashgate, 2008): 193-208; David Lucking, “Our Devils Now Are Ended: A Comparative Analysis of The Tempest and Doctor Faustus,” The Dalhousie Review 80 (2000): 151-67; Meredith Skura, “Marlowe’s Edward II: Penetrating Language in Shakespeare’s Richard II,” Shakespeare Survey 50 (1997): 41-55; Maurice Charney, “Marlowe’s Edward II as Model for Shakespeare’s Richard II,” Research Opportunities in Renaissance Drama 33 (1994): 31-41; Robert P. Merrix and Carole Levin, “Richard II and Edward II: The Structure of Deposition,” Shakespeare Yearbook 1990, vol. 1: 1-13; Glynne Wickham, “Shakespeare’s King Richard II and Marlowe’s King Edward II,” in Wickham’s Shakespeare’s Dramatic Heritage (London: Routledge & Kegan Paul, 1969): 165-79; Roy Battenhouse, “The Relation of Henry V to Tamburlaine,” Shakespeare Survey 27 (1974): 71-9; Robert Egan, “A Muse of Fire: Henry V in the Light of Tamburlaine,” Modern Language Quarterly 29 (1968): 15-28; Irving Ribner, “Barabas and Shylock,” in Christopher Marlowe’s The Jew of Malta: Text and Major Criticism, ed. Irving Ribner (New York: The Odyssey Press, 1970), 157-62; and “Shakespeare’s Recollections of Marlowe,” in Essays in Honour of Kenneth Muir, ed. Philip Edwards, Inga-Stina Ewbank, and G. K. Hunter (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1980), 191-204.

[5] See, for example, “Marlowe’s Hero and Leander Shows Shakespeare, in Venus and Adonis, How to Write an Ovidean Verse Epyllion,” in Marlowe’s Empery: Expanding His Critical Contexts, ed. Sara Munson Deats and Robert A. Logan (Newark: University of Delaware Press, 2002), 85-94.

[6] John Bakeless, The Tragicall History of Christopher Marlowe (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1942), Vol. 2, 263.

[7] Shakespeare’s Poems, ed. Katherine Duncan-Jones and H. R. Woudhuysen (London: Arden Shakespeare, 2007), 21.

[8] Alexander Frederick Falconer, Shakespeare and the Sea (London: Constable Co., Ltd., 1964), xiii.

[9] Parallel noted by Stanley Spenger in Anneli Rufus, “Battle of the Bards,” East Bay Express, June 16, 2010, www.eastbayexpress.com/ebx/battle-of-the-bards/Content?oid=1834105, accessed January 18, 2014.

[10] Dalton Gross and Mary Jean Gross, “Shakespeare, Eustachio, Marlowe, and Hamlet,” Notes and Queries 31 (1984): 199-200.

[11] Thomas Merriam, “The Tenor of Marlowe in Henry V,” Notes and Queries 45 (1998): 323.

[12] Mark Hutchings, “The End of II Tamburlaine and the Beginning of King Lear,” Notes and Queries 47 (2000): 82-8. See additional similarities between Tamburlaine and Lear in Lisa Hopkins, “‘Lear, Lear, Lear!’ Marlowe, Shakespeare, and the Third,” The Upstart Crow 16 (1996): 108-123.

[13] Quotation from The Complete Works of William Shakespeare, ed. W. J. Craig (London: Oxford University Press, 1945).




Marlowe, Queen Elizabeth, and the Archbishop of Canterbury
Did Marlowe go to Scotland after his "Death"?
Clue from Edmund Spenser?
Clue from Thomas Nashe?
Marlowe, Shakespeare and Religion
How Shakespeare Thought Like Marlowe
The Nature of Genius
Shakespeare's Knowledge of Italy
Shakespeare Was an Adept
Why it Probably Wasn't the Earl of Oxford
Why it Probably Wasn't Sir Francis Bacon
Why Marlowe's Death is Dubious
The Wise Man's Paradox
Christopher Marlowe's Writing
Marlowe-Shakespeare Similarities
Methodology
Copyright 2014 by Donna N. Murphy