Bal monologue — The Spanish Tragedy

Both well and ill; it makes me glad and sad: Glad, that I know the hind'rer of my love; Sad, that I fear she hates me whom I love; Glad, that I know on whom to be reveng'd; Sad, that she'll fly me if I take revenge. Yet must I take revenge or die myself; For love resisted grows impatient. I think Horatio be my destin'd plague: First, in his hand he brandished a sword, And with that sword he fiercely waged war, And in that war he gave me dangerous wounds, And by those wounds he forced me to yield, And by my yielding I became his slave; Now, in his mouth he carries pleasing words, Which pleasing words do harbour sweet conceits, Which sweet conceits are lim'd with sly deceits, Which sly deceits smooth Bel-imperia's ears, And through her ears dive down into her heart, And in her heart set him, where I should stand. Thus hath he ta'en my body by his force, And now by sleight would captivate my soul; But in his fall I'll tempt the Destinies, And either lose my life or win my love.