Let that one die who hath no will to live!
GUNTHER.
Oh, fearful choice!
VOLKER.
I warned thee long ago,
From starting on this course, but now at last
We see the end.
DANKWART.
And is it not our law,
That even blunders bring their penalty
He who runs through his bosom friend by night
Because he bore his lance too carelessly,
Can never free himself with all his tears,
However hot and bitter they may flow.—
The price is blood.
GUNTHER.
Now I will go to her.
[Exit.]