Secretary.  He says he will do his utmost, and at length proposes to sue and imprison Raymond, who has been so long in your debt.

Egmont.  But he has promised to pay!

Secretary.  The last time he fixed a fortnight himself.

Egmont.  Well, grant him another fortnight; after that he may proceed against him.

Secretary.  You do well.  His non-payment of the money proceeds not from inability, but from want of inclination.  He will trifle no longer when he sees that you are in earnest.  The steward further proposes to withhold, for half a month, the pensions which you allow to the old soldiers, widows, and others.  In the meantime some expedient may be devised; they must make their arrangements accordingly.

Egmont.  But what arrangements can be made here?  These poor people want the money more than I do.  He must not think of it.

Secretary.  How then, my lord, is he to raise the required sum?

Egmont.  It is his business to think of that.  He was told so in a former letter.

Secretary.  And therefore he makes these proposals.

Egmont.  They will never do;—­he must think of something else.  Let him suggest expedients that are admissible, and, before all, let him procure the money.

Secretary.  I have again before me the letter from Count Oliva.  Pardon my recalling it to your remembrance.  Before all others, the aged count deserves a detailed reply.  You proposed writing to him with your own hand.  Doubtless, he loves you as a father.

Egmont.  I cannot command the time;—­and of all detestable things, writing is to me the most detestable.  You imitate my hand so admirably, do you write in my name.  I am expecting Orange.  I cannot do it;—­I wish, however, that something soothing should be written, to allay his fears.

Secretary.  Just give me a notion of what you wish to communicate; I will at once draw up the answer, and lay it before you.  It shall be so written that it might pass for your hand in a court of justice.

Egmont.  Give me the letter. (After glancing over it.) Dear, excellent, old man!  Wert thou then so cautious in thy youth?  Didst thou never mount a breach?  Didst thou remain in the rear of battle at the suggestion of prudence?—­ What affectionate solicitude!  He has indeed my safety and happiness at heart, but considers not, that he who lives but to save his life, is already dead.—­Charge him not to be anxious on my account; I act as circumstances require, and shall be upon my guard.  Let him use his influence at court in my favour, and be assured of my warmest thanks.

Secretary.  Is that all?  He expects still more.

Egmont.  What can I say?  If you choose to write more fully, do so.  The matter turns upon a single point; he would have me live as I cannot live.  That I am joyous, live fast, take matters easily, is my good fortune; nor would! exchange it for the safety of a sepulchre.  My blood rebels against the Spanish mode of life, nor have I the least inclination to regulate my movements by the new and cautious measures of the court.  Do I live only to think of life?  Am I to forego the enjoyment of the present moment in order to secure the next?  And must that in its turn be consumed in anxieties and idle fears?