Where though I cannot conquer, ’twill allow
That I may die; that’s more than this will do.
Ant.—Why did you, Sir, betray my Weakness to her?
Though ’twas but what I did deserve from you.
Alb. By all that’s good, she knew the Plot before,
From Isabella, who it seems o’erheard us,
When you once press’d me to’t:
And had we wanted Virtue, thoud’st been lost.
Ant. I own the Crime;
And first I beg thy Pardon,