Tannhauser.
My soul is sick of riddling.
Fare
you well !
\^£xtt the Unknown Minstrei.
Wake,
wake, poor child, poor child, Elizabeth
!
Elizabeth.
What says my dear one
?
I have
been with God.
Tannhauser
{aside).
How shall I speak ?
A violent good-bye,
As one distraught, ashamed
.-*
I
had unbared
My bosom to these folk, but the sole pride,
My father's gift —to be
a
gentleman —
Forbade
the dying, welcome otherwise,
At any despicable hands as theirs.
They, they might boast —we hundred swords or so
Set on the mighty Tannhauser,
and slew him.
We, scarce
an hundred
!
Yes, believe
it,
sirs
We are not so feeble
!
— But death
anyhow
Cuts and not loosens the entangled life.
Be mine the harder and the better way,
The single chance
:
not hope
;
appeal no more
;
Hardly the arrowy wisdom of despair
;
Hardly the cowardice or courage yet
To drift, nor cursing nor invoking
God.
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