JOHN How beautiful, (_handling his mourning_) And comely do these mourning garments shew! Sure Grief hath set his sacred impress here, To claim the world's respect! they note so feelingly By outward types the serious man within.-- Alas! what part or portion can I claim In all the decencies of virtuous sorrow, Which other mourners use? as namely, This black attire, abstraction from society, Good thoughts, and frequent sighs, and seldom smiles, A cleaving sadness native to the brow, All sweet condolements of like-grieved friends, (That steal away the sense of loss almost) Men's pity, and good offices Which enemies themselves do for us then, Putting their hostile disposition off, As we put off our high thoughts and proud looks. (_Pauses, and observes the pictures_.) These pictures must be taken down: The portraitures of our most antient family For nigh three hundred years! How have I listen'd, To hear Sir Walter, with an old man's pride, Holding me in his arms, a prating boy, And pointing to the pictures where they hung, Repeat by course their worthy histories, (As Hugh de Widville, Walter, first of the name, And Ann the handsome, Stephen, and famous John: Telling me, I must be his famous John.) But that was in old times. Now, no more Must I grow proud upon our house's pride. I rather, I, by most unheard of crimes, Have backward tainted all their noble blood, Rased out the memory of an ancient family, And quite revers'd the honors of our house. Who now shall sit and tell us anecdotes? The secret history of his own times, And fashions of the world when he was young: How England slept out three and twenty years, While Carr and Villiers rul'd the baby king: The costly fancies of the pedant's reign, Balls, feastings, huntings, shows in allegory, And Beauties of the court of James the First. _Margaret enters._ JOHN Comes Margaret here to witness my disgrace? O, lady, I have suffer'd loss, And diminution of my honor's brightness. You bring some images of old times, Margaret, That should be now forgotten. MARGARET Old times should never be forgotten, John. I came to talk about them with my friend. JOHN I did refuse you, Margaret, in my pride.