Heywood (as if awaking).
I hear no cry.
Middleton.
What is't comes hither, like a gust of wind?
Cecilia rushes in.
Cecilia.
Where—where? O, then, 'tis true—and he is dead!
All's over now—there's nothing in the world—
For he who raised my heart up from the dust,
And show'd me noble lights in mine own soul,