Cel. [To Xim.] Speak, mother, speak; my father gives you time;
He stands amazed, irresolute, and dumb,
Like the still face of heaven before a storm;—
Speak and arrest the thunder, ere it rolls.
Xim. I stand suspected; but you, Celidea,
The favourite of his heart, his darling child,
May speak, and ought: your interest is concerned;
For, if Alphonso die, your hopes are lost.
I see your father's soul, like glowing steel,
Is on the anvil; strike, while yet he's hot: