TRISTAN (overpowered). Isolda!
ISOLDA (sinking upon his breast). Traitor beloved!
TRISTAN. Woman divine!
(He embraces her with ardor. They remain in a silent embrace.)
ALL THE MEN (without). Hail! Hail!
Hail our monarch!
Hail to Mark, the king!
BRANGÆNA (who, filled with confusion and horror, has leaned over the side with averted face, now turns to behold the pair locked in their close embrace, and rushes to the front, wringing her hands in despair). Woe's me! Woe's me!
Endless mis'ry
I have wrought
instead of death!
Dire the deed
of my dull fond heart:
it cries aloud to heav'n!
(They start from their embrace.)
TRISTAN (bewildered). What troubled dream
of Tristan's honor?
ISOLDA. What troubled dream
Of Isolda's shame?
TRISTAN. Have I then lost thee?