Tannhäuser

Herald. Silence ! Landgrave. Sir Minstrel, you are insolent ! We do not know you, yet have borne with you, Rudely uprising ere your turn was come :— And you abuse our patience to insult The noble minstrel whose impassioned song Touched every heart. Sing in your turn you may. Love is the theme, not imbecility ! Wolfram. That is the subject next his heart, no doubt ! \^Laughter. Herald. Lord Bertram ! Bertram. I shall sing in other key. \Sings. He is the equal of the gods, my queen. He crowned and chosen out of men, Who sits beside thee, sees Love's laughing ecstasies Flame in thy face, and alter then To the low light of passion dimly seen In shaded woods and dells, Love's wide demesne. I02