of filial grief is so ever uppermost, that you may
discover his thoughts less troubled with conjecturing what living
opinions will say, and judge of his deeds, than absorbed and buried
with the dead, whom his indiscretion made so.

_Marg_. I knew a greatness ever to be resident in him, to which the
admiring eyes of men should look up even in the declining and
bankrupt state of his pride. Fain would I see him, fain talk with
him; but that a sense of respect, which is violated, when without
deliberation we press into the society of the unhappy, checks and
holds me back. How, think you, he would bear my presence?

_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