ISOLDA (_advancing with the cup to_ TRISTAN, _who gazes
immovably into her eyes_).
Thou hear'st the cry?
The shore's in sight:
we must ere long (_with slight scorn_)
stand by King Mark together.

SAILORS (_without_). Haul the warp!
Anchor down!

TRISTAN (_starting wildly_). Down with the anchor!
Her stern to the stream!
The sails a-weather the mast!

(_He takes the cup from_ ISOLDA.)

I know the Queen
of Ireland well,
unquestioned are
her magic arts:
the balsam cured me
which she brought;
now bid me quaff the cup,
that I may quite recover.
Heed to my all--
atoning oath,
which in return I tender
Tristan's honor--
highest truth!
Tristan's anguish--