To steal away her troth; short tale to tell,
I took him for Andrea—down he fell.
King. O impious deed,
To make the heir of honour melt and bleed!
Bear him away to execution.
Laz. Nay, lord Lorenzo, where’s the pardon? ’sfoot,
I’ll peach else.
[Aside.
Lor. Peace, Lazarotto, I’ll get it of the king.
[Aside.