Heinrich.
You are the poet !
To your instinct then !
Here's
to the insight given us by God !
Landgrave.
Wolfram is right
; a truce to jest to-day.
The dogs are loose.
Ride forward, gentlemen
!
[Amid the winding of horns and cries of the hunts-
men the company
moves
off.
Heinrich.
They hate his very name
I
Dear Tannhauser
! \Exit.
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