No longer master of myself. No more
Do I endure that erstwhile form of mine
Which only is a mask and not the truth.
Johannes:
O friend, what ails thee? Vanished is the light
That filled thine eye: as marble is thy frame.
I grasp thine hand and find it cold as death.
Benedictus:
My son, full many trials have come to thee;
And now thou stand’st before life’s hardest test.