ALC. At first they cried all war, as men resolved To lose both life and honour at one cast: At which I thunder’d words all clad in proof, Which struck amazement to their palled speech, And tribute presently was yielded up. But, madam Bell’-Imperia, leave we this, And talk of former suits and quests of love. _They whisper. Enter_ LAZAROTTO. LAZ. ’Tis all about the court Andrea’s come: Would I might greet him! and I wonder much, My lord Lorenzo is so slack in murder, Not to afford me notice all this while. Gold, I am true; I had my hire, and thou shalt have thy due: Was’t possible to miss him so? soft! soft! This gallery leads to Bell’-Imperia’s lodging; There he is, sure, or will be, sure. I’ll stay: The evening too begins to slubber day:[303] Sweet, opportuneful season; here I’ll lean, Like a court-hound, that licks fat trenchers clean. [_Aside_. BEL. But has the king partook your embassy? ALC. That till to-morrow shall be now deferr’d. BEL. Nay, then you love me not: Let that be first despatch’d; till when receive this token. [_She kisses him. Exit_ BELL’-IMPERIA. ALC. I to the king with this unfaithful heart! It must not be: I play too false a part. LAZ. Up, Lazarotto; yonder comes thy prize; Now lives Andrea, now Andrea dies. [LAZAROTTO _kills him_. ALC. That villain Lazarotto has kill’d me, Instead of Andrea. _Enter_ ANDREA _and_ ROGERO, _and Others._ ROG. Welcome home, lord embassador. ALC. O, O, O. AND. Whose groan was that? what frightful villain’s this, His sword unsheathed? whom hast thou murdered, slave? LAZ. Why, Don, Don Andrea. AND. No, counterfeiting villain. He says, my lord, that he hath murdered me. LAZ. Aye, Don Andrea, or else Don the devil. AND. Lay hands on him; some rear up The bleeding body to the light. ROG. My lord, I think ’tis you: were you not here, A man might swear ’twere you. AND. His garments, ha! like mine, his face made like! An ominous horror all my veins doth strike. Sure, this portends my death; this misery Aims at some fatal pointed tragedy. _Enter_ JERONIMO _and_ HORATIO. JER. Son Horatio, see Andrea slain! HOR. Andrea slain! then, weapon, cling[304] my breast. AND. Live, truest friend, for ever lov’d and bless’d. HOR. Lives Don Andrea? AND. Aye, but slain in thought, To see so strange a likeness forged and wrought. Lords, cannot you yet descry, Who is the owner of this red melting body? ROG. My lord, it is Alcario, duke Medina’s son; 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.