Turn him, and ply him; set him strait betimes,
Lest he for ever warp.
Cel. I fear, and yet would speak; but will he hear me?
Xim. For what is all this silence, but to hear?
Bring him but to calm reasoning, and he's gained.
Cel. Then heaven inspire my tongue!——
Sir, royal sir!——
He hears me not; he lifts not up his eyes,
But, fixed upon the pavement, looks the way
That points to death.— [She pulls him.