By the tufted tip of my cowl, cried Friar John, I am e'en resolved to become a scholar before I die.

I have a pretty good headpiece of my own, you must own.

Now pray give me leave to ask you a civil question.

Can these same heroes or demigods you talk of die?
May I never be damned if I was not so much a lobcock as to believe they had been immortal, like so many fine angels.

Heaven forgive me! but this most reverend father, Macroby, tells us they die at last.