KURVENAL (advancing gaily). Hail, Tristan,
knight of good hap!
Behold King Mark approaching,
in a bark
with brave attendance.
Gladly he stems the tide,
coming to seek his bride.
TRISTAN (looking up in bewilderment). Who comes?
KURVENAL. The king 'tis.
TRISTAN. What king mean you?
(KURVENAL points over the side. TRISTAN gazes stupefied at the shore.)
ALL THE MEN (waving their hats). Hail to King Mark!
All hail!
ISOLDA (bewildered). What is't, Brangæna?
What are those cries?
BRANGÆNA. Isolda—mistress!
Compose thyself!
ISOLDA. Where am I! living?
What was that draught?
BRANGÆNA (despairingly). The love-potion!