_Sand_. As of an assured friend, whom in the forgetfulness of his fortunes he past by. See him you must; but not to-night. The newness of the sight shall move the bitterest compunction and the truest remorse; but afterwards, trust me, dear lady, the happiest effects of a returning peace, and a gracious comfort, to him, to you, and all of us. _Marg_. I think he would not deny me. He hath ere this received farewell letters from his brother, who hath taken a resolution to estrange himself, for a time, from country, friends, and kindred, and to seek occupation for his sad thoughts in travelling in foreign places, where sights remote and extern to himself may draw from him kindly and not painful ruminations. _Sand_. I was present at the receipt of the letter. The contents seemed to affect him, for a moment, with a more lively passion of grief than he has at any time outwardly shown. He wept with many tears (which I had not before noted in him), and appeared to be touched with the sense as of some unkindness; but the cause of their sad separation and divorce quickly recurring, he presently returned to his former inwardness of suffering. _Marg_. The reproach of his brother's presence at this hour would have been a weight more than could be sustained by his already oppressed and sinking spirit. Meditating upon these intricate and widespread sorrows, hath brought a heaviness upon me, as of sleep. How goes the night?-- _Sand_. An hour past sunset. You shall first refresh your limbs (tired with travel) with meats and some cordial wine, and then betake your no less wearied mind to repose. _Marg_. A good rest to us all. _Sand._ Thanks, lady. ACT THE FIFTH. JOHN WOODVIL. (_dressing_). _John_. How beautiful (_handling his mourning_) And comely do these mourning garments show! 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_.