Luis monologue — The Purgatory of St. Patrick

Hapless Polonia, since creation's hour Beauty has ever one unvarying dower, It brings misfortune with it, it is this Makes beauty rarely live long time with bliss. I, who less pity feel Than any headsman who e'er held death's steel, May by thy death procure My life, since with it I will go secure. If thee I bring where fortune's hand may guide me I bring the witness of my woes beside me, By whom they may pursue me, Track me, discover me, in fact, undo me If here I leave thee living, I leave thee angry, vengeful, unforgiving; Leave thee, in fact, to be One enemy more (and what an enemy!); Thus equally I grieve thee, Thus evil do whether I take or leave thee; And so 'tis better thus, That I a wretch, cruel and infamous, False, impious, fierce, abandoned, wicked, banned By God and man, should slay thee by my hand, Since buried here, Within the rustic entrails dark and drear Of this rude realm of stone, My worst misfortune shall remain unknown. My fury, too, shall gain A novel kind of vengeance when thou'rt slain, Remaining satisfied That Philip, too, by the same stroke has died, If in thy heart he lived; and then mine ire Will need no victim more except thy sire. Through thee first came My first disgrace, the cause of all my shame, And so the first of all On thee my vengeful strokes shall furious fall.