"And when
With wildwood leaves, and weeds, I have strewed his grave,
And on it said a century of prayers,
Such as I can, twice o'er, I'll weep, and sigh,
And, leaving so his service, follow you."

[112] If the reader thinks that in Henry the Fifth's time the
Elizabethan temper might already have been manifesting itself, let
him compare the English herald's speech, act 2, scene 2, of King
John; and by way of specimen of Shakespere's historical care, or
regard of mediaeval character, the large use of _artillery_ in the
previous scene.

[113] The last bishop.

[114] His favorite son; nominally his nephew.

[115] "Nero Antico" is more familiar to our ears; but Browning does
right in translating it; as afterwards "cipollino" into
"onion-stone." Our stupid habit of using foreign words without
translation is continually losing us half the force of the foreign
language. How many travellers hearing the term "cipollino" recognize
the intended sense of a stone splitting into concentric coats, like
an onion?

[116] I mean that Shakespere almost always implies a total
difference in _nature_ between one human being and another; one
being from the birth, pure and affectionate, another base and cruel;
and he displays each, in its sphere, as having the nature of dove,
wolf, or lion, never much implying the government or change of
nature by any external principle. There can be no question that in
the main he is right in this view of human nature; still, the other
form of virtue does exist occasionally, and was never, as far as I
recollect, taken much note of by him. And with this stern view of
humanity, Shakespere joined a sorrowful view of Fate, closely
resembling that of the ancients. He is distinguished from Dante
eminently by his always dwelling on last causes instead of first
causes. Dante invariably points to the moment of the soul's choice
which fixed its fate, to the instant of the day when it read no
farther, or determined to give bad advice about Penestrino. But
Shakespere always leans on the force of Fate, as it urges the final
evil; and dwells with infinite bitterness on the power of the
wicked, and the infinitude of result dependent seemingly on little
things. A fool brings the last piece of news from Verona, and the
dearest