He walk’d upright: this ominous mistake,
This damned error,
Breedeth in my soul an everlasting terror.
King. Say, slave, how came this accurs’d evil?
Laz. Faith, by myself, my short sword, and the devil.
To tell you all without a tedious tongue,
I’ll cut them down, my words shall not hang[305] long.
That hapless bleeding lord Alcario,
Which this hand slew, pox on’t, was a huge doater
On Bell’-Imperia’s beauty, who replied