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"It contains what shall secure your happiness!" Brangaene joyfully hurries to fetch the small golden coffer, lifts the lid, fingers the phials. "In this very order were they placed by your mother, the mighty magic potions. For hurts and wounds here is balm; here, for poison, is counterpoison...." She takes out and holds up before Isolde with a significant smile a small flask.
Wickedness contrives torments against itself: "Malum consilium consultori pessimum." Apud Aul. as the wasp stings and hurts another, but most of all itself, for it there loses its sting and its use for ever, "Vitasque in vulnere ponunt." Cantharides have somewhere about them, by a contrariety of nature, a counterpoison against their poison.
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