Ant. How, Sir, have I done this?
Alb. Yes, Antonio, thou hast done this.
Ant. My dear Alberto, said you that you lov’d her?
Alb. Yes, Antonio, against my will I do;
As much against my will, as when I told her so;
Urg’d by thy needless Stratagem.
Ant. Name it no more, it was an idle Fault,
Which I do so repent me,
That if you find I should relapse again,
Kill me, and let me perish with my Weakness: