Or, traitor, thou hadst felt me.—But 'tis done.
Theod. Oh, monstrous! monstrous!
Count. Triumph now o'er Narbonne;
Boast, how a stripling and a monk deceiv'd
The easy Count; but, if thou lov'st thy bride,
Take that, and use it nobly.
[Throws down the Dagger.
Theod. 'Gainst thy heart,
Barbarian, would I use it: but look there;
There are ten thousand daggers.