Landgrave.
Blaspheme not !
Dare not to insult the sign
Of our Redemption
!
Gentlemen and peers,
What say you ? shall he live to boast himself,
The abandoned, perjured,
the apostate soul.
Daring to come
to our pure court to brag
Of his incredible vileness ?
To link up
The saintly purity of this my child
With his seducer's
heart of hell !
My voice !
Death
!
Your
cry echoes
me ?
Voices.
Death
! Death
!
Tannhauser.
Leap
out,
Sword of my fathers ! you have heard my harp !
Its music stings your vile hypocrisy
Into mere
hatred.
Truth is terrible
!
You,
cousin, taken in adultery
!
You, Wolfram,
lover of the kitchen maids !
You, Jerome —yes, I know your secret
deeds
!
You, ladies !
Are your faces painted thus
Not to hide wrinkles of debauchery
.-'
To catch
new lovers
?
Landgrave.
Stop the lying mouth
!
Friends,
your sword-service
!
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