[He bites out his tongue.
King.
O monstrous resolution of a wretch!
See, Viceroy, he hath bitten forth his tongue,
Rather than to reveal what we requir'd.
Castile.
Yet can he write.
King.
And if in this he satisfy us not,
We will devise th' extremest kind of death
That ever was invented for a wretch.
[He makes signs for a knife to mend his pen.
Castile.
O, he would have a knife to mend his pen.