Fr. It were vain.
Earth has not such restorative.
Hen. Not dead?
Fr. The heavenly amaranth alone can dew
Her brow with life.
Hen. O, Hubert! What am I?
Let me crawl to thy feet, cast off my crown
As I cast off this cowl, and lie in dust
Before thee! O, too late! [To friar]
'Tis as you guessed.