Egmont.  Your words, alas, justify the fears of the people, the universal fear!  The king has then resolved as no sovereign ought to resolve.  In order to govern his subjects more easily, he would crush, subvert, nay, ruthlessly destroy, their strength, their spirit, and their self-respect!  He would violate the inmost core of their individuality, doubtless with the view of promoting their happiness.  He would annihilate them, that they may assume a new, a different form.  Oh! if his purpose be good, he is fatally misguided!  It is not the king whom we resist;—­we but place ourselves in the way of the monarch, who, unhappily, is about to take the first rash step in a wrong direction.

Alva.  Such being your sentiments, it were a vain attempt for us to endeavour to agree.  You must indeed think poorly of the king, and contemptibly of his counsellors, if you imagine that everything has not already been thought of and maturely weighed.  I have no commission a second time to balance conflicting arguments.  From the people I demand submission;—­and from you, their leaders and princes, I demand counsel and support, as pledges of this unconditional duty.

Egmont.  Demand our heads, and your object Is attained; to a noble soul it must be indifferent whether he stoop his neck to such a yoke, or lay it upon the block.  I have spoken much to little purpose.  I have agitated the air, but accomplished nothing.

[Enter Ferdinand.

Ferdinand.  Pardon my intrusion.  Here is a letter, the bearer of which urgently demands an answer.

Alva.  Allow me to peruse its contents. (Steps aside.)

Ferdinand (to Egmont).  ’Tis a noble steed that your people have brought, to carry you away.

Egmont.  I have seen worse.  I have had him some time; I think of parting with him.  If he pleases you we shall probably soon agree as to the price.

Ferdinand.  We will think about it.

(Alva motions to his son, who retires to the back-ground.)

Egmont.  Farewell!  Allow me to retire; for, by heaven, I know not what more I can say.

Alva.  Fortunately for you, chance prevents you from making a fuller disclosure of your sentiments.  You incautiously lay bare the recesses of your heart, and your own lips furnish evidence against you, more fatal than could be produced by your bitterest adversary.

Egmont.  This reproach disturbs me not.  I know my own heart; I know with what honest zeal I am devoted to the king; I know that my allegiance is more true than that of many who, in his service, seek only to serve themselves.  I regret that our discussion should terminate so unsatisfactorily, and trust that in spite of our opposing views, the service of the king, our master, and the welfare of our country, may speedily unite us; another conference, the presence of the princes who to-day are absent, may, perchance, in a more propitious moment, accomplish what at present appears impossible.  In this hope I take my leave.