I know him by this mole upon his breast.
Laz. Alcario slain! hast thou beguiled me, sword?
Arm, hast thou slain thy bountiful kind lord?
Why then rot off and drop upon the ground,
Strow all the galleries with gobbets round.
Enter Lorenzo.
Lor. Who names Alcario slain? it is Alcario!
O cursed deed!
Couldst thou not see, but make the wrong man bleed?
Laz. ’Sfoot, ’twas your fault, my lord; you brought no word.