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!

ISOLDA (_staring with horror at_ TRISTAN). Tristan!

TRISTAN. Isolda!

ISOLDA. Must I live, then?

(_Falls fainting upon his breast_.)

BRANGÆNA (_to the women_). Look to your lady!

TRISTAN. O rapture fraught with cunning!
O fraud with bliss o'er-running!

ALL THE MEN (_in a general burst of acclamation_).
Hail to King Mark!
Cornwall, hail!