TRISTAN.  The dreary day—­
its last time comes!

MELOT (to Mark).  Now say to me, my sov’reign, was my impeachment just?  I staked my head thereon:  How is the pledge redeemed?  Behold him in the very act:  honor and fame, faithfully I have saved from shame for thee.

MARK (deeply moved, with trembling voice).  Hast thou
preserved them? 
Say’st thou so?—­
See him there,
the truest of all true hearts! 
Look on him
the faithfulest of friends, too
His offence
so black and base
fills my heart
with anguish and disgrace. 
Tristan traitor,
what hope stayeth
that the honor
he betrayeth
should by Melot’s rede
rest to me indeed?

TRISTAN (with convulsive violence).  Daylight phantoms—­ morning visions empty and vain—­ Avaunt!  Begone!

MARK (in deep emotion).  This—­blow. 
Tristan, to me? 
Where now has truth fled,
if Tristan can betray? 
Where now are faith
and friendship fair,
when from the fount of faith,
my Tristan, they are gone? 
The buckler Tristan
once did don,
where is that shield
of virtue now?
when from my friends it flies,
and Tristan’s honor dies?

(TRISTAN slowly lowers his eyes to the ground.  His features express increasing grief while MARK continues.)

Why hast thou noble service done, and honor, fame and potent might amassed for Mark, thy king?  Must honor, fame, power and might, must all thy noble service done be paid with Mark’s dishonor?  Seemed the reward too slight and scant that what thou hast won him—­ realms and riches—­ thou art the heir unto, all?  When childless he lost once a wife, he loved thee so that ne’er again did Mark desire to marry.  When all his subjects, high and low, demands and pray’rs, on him did press to choose himself a consort—­ a queen to give the kingdom, when thou thyself thy uncle urged that what the court and country pleaded well might be conceded, opposing high and low, opposing e’en thyself, with kindly cunning still he refused, till, Tristan, thou didst threaten forever to leave both court and land if thou receivedst not command a bride for the king to woo:  then so he let thee do.—­ This wondrous lovely wife, thy might for me did win, who could behold her, who address her, who in pride and bliss possess her, but would bless his happy fortune?  She whom I have paid respect to ever, whom I owned, yet possess’d her never she, the princess proud and peerless, lighting up my life so cheerless, ’spite foes,—­without fear, the fairest of brides thou didst bring me here.  Why in hell must I bide, without hope of a heaven?  Why endure disgrace unhealed by tears or grief?  The unexplained, unpenetrated cause of all these woes, who will to us disclose?

TRISTAN (raising his eyes pitifully towards MARK).  O monarch!  I—­ may not tell thee, truly; what thou dost ask remains for aye unanswered.—­