Venus.
What ?
Art thou mad
?
Come close to me again.
Forget this nightmare.
Rather, tell me
it,
And
I
will soothe thee.
Have
I
not a balm,
A sovereign comfort in my old caress
?
Tannhauser.
I
must begone.
She waits.
Venus.
Who waits
?
Come here
!
Let us talk fondly, set together still,
Not with these shouts and wavings of the arms,
Struts and unseemly gestures.
Tannhauser
!
Tannhauser.
She waits for me, my sweet
Elizabeth
!
Venus or Lilith,
I
have loved thee well
!
Now, to my freedom
!
Venus.
Your Elizabeth
!
•
Tannhauser.
Ay, to those
pure and alabaster brows,
The tender fingers, and
the maiden smile.
Burn
the whore's bed
!
Unpaint the cruel lips
!
69