u still deny?

(_Renewed cries of the Sailors_.)

(_At an impatient sign from_ ISOLDA BRANGAENA _hands
her the filled cup_.)

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--
brave distress!
Traitor spirit,
dawn-illumined!
Endless trouble's
only truce!
Oblivion's kindly draught,
with rapture thou art quaff'd!

(_He lifts the cup and drinks_.)

ISOLDA. Betrayed e'en here?
I must halve it!--

(_She wrests the cup from his hand_.)

Betrayer, I drink to thee!

[_She drinks, and then throws away the cup. Both, seized with
shuddering, gaze with deepest emotion, but immovable demeanor, into
one another's eyes, in which the expression of defiance to death
fades and melts into the glow of passion. Trembling seizes them,
they convulsively clutch their hearts and pass their hands over their
brows. Their glances again seek to meet, sink in confusion, and once
more turn with growing longing upon one another_.]

ISOLDA (_with trembling voice_). Tristan!

TRISTAN (_overpowered_). Isolda!

ISOLDA (_sinking upon his breast_). Traitor beloved!

TRISTAN. Woman divine!

(_He embraces her with ardor. They remain in a silent embrace_.)

ALL THE MEN (_without_). Hail! Hail!
Hail our monarch!
Hail to Mark, the king!

BRANGAENA (_who, filled with confusion and horror, has leaned over
the side with averted face, now turns to behold the pair locked in
their close embrace, and rushes to the front, wringing her hands in
despair_). Woe's me! Woe's me!
Endless mis'ry
I have wrought
instead of death!
Dire the deed
of my dull fond heart:
it cries aloud to heav'n!

(_They start from their embrace_.)

TRISTAN (_bewildered_). What troubled dream
of Tristan's honor?

ISOLDA. What troubled dream
Of Isolda's shame?

TRISTAN. Have I then lost thee?

ISOLDA. Have I repulsed thee?

TRISTAN. Fraudulent magi