That shelters him from night is all unstirred.
FIRST SLAVE: Even the wind must pause.
SECOND SLAVE: 'Twas but a breeze
To blow our sinking courage to clear fire.
Too long we loiter; soon the approaching day
Will take us, slaves who grasp the arms of men
Yet dare not plunge them save in our own breasts.
Come, let us strike!
(They approach the bed and draw aside the curtain.)
FIRST SLAVE: The King--how still he sleeps!