Tannhäuser

Tannhauser. Will they answer you ? My arm is weary as your souls are not Of beastliness : I have drawn my father's sword, Hard as your virtue is the easy sort, Heavy to handle as your loves are light, Smooth as your lies, and sharper than your hates ! I know you ! Cowards to the very bone ! [^Driving them out. Who fights me, of this sworded company ? Cannot my words have sting in them enough, Now, to make one of you turn suddenly And stab me from behind ? Out, out with you ! Fling-to the doors ! A murrain on the curs ! So, I am master ! The Unknown Minstrel. Well and merrily done ! But look you to the lady ; she has swooned. Tannhauser. Who are you, sir, stood smiling, nonchalant, At all the turmoil, ridiculing it ? You knew the secret symbol of my life, You forced me to that miserable song. The Unknown Minstrel. My name, sir, at your service, is Geschicht. 124