"Sir Morold toiled
o'er mighty wave
the Cornish tax to levy;
In desert isle
was dug his grave,
he died of wounds so heavy.
His head now hangs
in Irish lands,
Sole were-gild won
at English hands.
Bravo, our brave Tristan!
Let his tax take who can!"

[KURVENAL, _driven away by_ TRISTAN'S _chidings, descends into
the cabin_. BRANGÆNA _returns in discomposure to_ ISOLDA,
_closing the curtains behind her, while all the men take up the
chorus and are heard without_.]

KNIGHTS AND ATTENDANTS.
"His head now hangs
in Irish lands,
sole were-gild won
at English hands.
Bravo, our brave Tristan!
Let his tax take who can!"


SCENE III.

[ISOLDA _and_ BRANGÆNA _alone, the curtain being again