ecking herself suddenly_).
Here I remain:
heard you not?
Tristan will I await.--
I trust in thee
to aid in this:
prepare the true
cup of peace:
thou mindest how it is made.

BRANGAENA.
What meanest thou?

ISOLDA (_taking a bottle from the coffer_).
This it is!
From the flask go pour
this philtre out;
yon golden goblet 'twill fill.

BRANGAENA (_filled with terror receiving the flask_).
Trust I my wits?

ISOLDA.
Wilt thou be true?

BRANGAENA.
The draught--for whom?

ISOLDA. Him who betrayed!

BRANGAENA. Tristan?

ISOLDA. Truce he'll drink with me.

BRANGAENA (_throwing herself at_ ISOLDA'S _feet_). O horror!
Pity thy handmaid!

ISOLDA. Pity thou me,
false-hearted maid!
Mindest thou not
my mother's arts?
Think you that she
who'd mastered those
would have sent thee o'er the sea
without assistance for me?
A salve for sickness
doth she offer
and antidotes
for deadly drugs:
for deepest grief
and woe supreme
gave she the draught of death.
Let Death now give her thanks!

BRANGAENA (_scarcely able to control herself_). O deepest
grief!

ISOLDA. Now, wilt thou obey?

BRANGAENA. O woe supreme!

ISOLDA. Wilt thou be true?

BRANGAENA. The draught?

KURVENAL (_entering_). Sir Tristan!

(BRANGAENA _rises, terrified and confused_. ISOLDA _strives with
immense effort to control herself_.)

ISOLDA (_to Kurvenal_). Sir Tristan may approach!

SCENE VI.

[KURVENAL _retires again_. BRANGAENA, _almost beside herself,
turns up the stage_. ISOLDA, _mustering all her powers of
resolution, walks slowly and with dignity towards the sofa, by the
head of which she supports herself, turning her eyes firmly towards
the entrance_]

(TRISTAN _enters, and pauses respectfully at the entrance_.)

TRISTAN. Demand, lady,
what you will.

ISOLDA. While knowing not
what my demand is,
wert thou afraid
still to fulfil it,
fleeing my presence thus?

TRISTAN. Honor
Held me in awe.

ISOLDA. Scant honor hast thou
shown unto me;
for, unabashed,
withheldest thou
obedience unto my call.

TRISTAN. Obedience 'twas
forbade me to come.

ISOLDA. But little I owe
thy lord, methinks,
if he allows
ill manners
unto his own promised bride.

TRISTAN. In our land
it is the law
that he who fetches
home the bride
should stay afar from her.

ISOLDA. On what account?

TRISTAN. 'Tis the custom.

ISOLDA. Being so careful,
my lord Tristan,
another custom
can you not learn?
Of enemies friends make:
for