The Spanish Tragedie.
Sad, that sheele flie me if I take reuenge.
Yet must I take reuenge or dye my-selfe,
For loue resisted growes impatient.
I think Horatio be my destinde plague.
First, in his hand he brandished a sword:
And with that sword, he fiercely waged warre,
And in that warre he gaue me dangerous woundes,
And by those wouuds he forced me to yeeld,
And by my yeelding, I became his slaue.
Now, in his mouth he caries pleasing words,
Which pleasing words doe harbour sweet conceits,
Which sweete conceits are limbde with slie deceites,
Which slie deceits smooth Bel-imperias eares,
And through her eares diue downe into her heart,
And in her heart set him where I should stand:
Thus hath he tane my body by his force,
And now by slieght would captiuate my soule:
But in his fall Ile tempt the destinies.
And either lose my life, or winne my loue.
Yet must I take reuenge or dye my-selfe,
For loue resisted growes impatient.
I think Horatio be my destinde plague.
First, in his hand he brandished a sword:
And with that sword, he fiercely waged warre,
And in that warre he gaue me dangerous woundes,
And by those wouuds he forced me to yeeld,
And by my yeelding, I became his slaue.
Now, in his mouth he caries pleasing words,
Which pleasing words doe harbour sweet conceits,
Which sweete conceits are limbde with slie deceites,
Which slie deceits smooth Bel-imperias eares,
And through her eares diue downe into her heart,
And in her heart set him where I should stand:
Thus hath he tane my body by his force,
And now by slieght would captiuate my soule:
But in his fall Ile tempt the destinies.
And either lose my life, or winne my loue.
Lor. Lets goe, my Lord; your staying stayes reuenge,
Doe you but follow me, and gaine your loue.
Exeunt.Her fauour must be wonne by his remooue.
Doe you but follow me, and gaine your loue.
Exeunt.Her fauour must be wonne by his remooue.
Enter Horatio and Bel-imperia.
Hor. Now, Modame, since by fauour of your loue,
Our hidden smoke is turned to open flame:
And that with lookes and wordes we feed our thoughts,
Two chiefe contents, where more cannot be had.
Thus in the midst of loues faire blandishments,
Why shew you signe of inward languishments.
Our hidden smoke is turned to open flame:
And that with lookes and wordes we feed our thoughts,
Two chiefe contents, where more cannot be had.
Thus in the midst of loues faire blandishments,
Why shew you signe of inward languishments.
Pedringano sheweth all to the Prince, and Lorenzo,
placing them in secret.
placing them in secret.
Bel. My heart, sweet friend, is like a ship at Sea:
She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,
She may repaire what stormie times haue worne:
And, leaning on the shore may sing with ioy,
That pleasure, follow paine, and blisse annoy.
She wisheth port, where, riding all at ease,
She may repaire what stormie times haue worne:
And, leaning on the shore may sing with ioy,
That pleasure, follow paine, and blisse annoy.
Possession
