"O Anthony! ... We could not stall together; but yet let me lament, With tears as sovereign as the blood of hearts, That thou, my brother, my competitor In top of all design, my mate in empire, Friend and companion in the front of war, Unreconciliable should divide Where mine his thoughts did kindle, that our stars Unreconciliable should divide Our equalness to this." It is above all in _Henry VIII_ that this feeling for justice widens into a feeling towards oneself and others. We find a particularly good instance of it in the dialogues between Queen Catherine and her great enemy Wolsey. When the queen has mentioned all the grave misdeeds of the dead man in her severe speech, Griffith craves permission to record in his turn all the good there was in him; and with so persuasive an eloquence does he record this good, that the queen, when she has heard him, concludes with a sad smile: "After my death I wish no other herald, No other speaker of my living actions, But such an honest chronicler as Griffith. Whom I most hated living thou hast made me, With thy religious truth and modesty, Now in his ashes honour: peace be with him!" One who feels justice in this way, is inclined to be indulgent, and in Shakespeare we find the song of indulgence, in the _Tempest:_ a lofty indulgence, for his discernment of good and evil was acute, his sense alike for what is noble and for what is base, exquisite. He could never be of those who slip into some form of false indulgence, which lowers the standard of the ideal, in order to approach the real, cancelling or rendering uncertain, in greater or lesser measure, the boundaries between virtue and vice. Prospero it is, who is indulgent in the _Tempest,_ the sage, the wise, the injured, the beneficent Prospero.