'Tis he! I know, I know!
Let no one tread on him; for thou didst hear
The servants stumble over him.—The servants!
Yet once great kings made way for him.
UTE.
The light!
KRIEMHILD.
I'll place it there myself.
[She opens the door and falls to the floor.]
Oh Mother, Mother,
Why didst thou bear thy child! Oh thou dear head,
But let me kiss thee. I'll not seek thy mouth,
For all to me is precious. Thou canst not
Forbid me as thou would'st perhaps.—Thy lips—
'Tis too much pain!
CHAMBERLAIN.
She's dying.