Egmont.
Therefore the worthier of it. Love is not
A bird of prey, to pay the hunter's toil—
He is best won by those who seek him not.
What have I done? What can I do for you?
Clara.
I saw you riding in the regent's train.
Egmont.
Did you, my child? I looked, but saw you not.
Clara.
I shun to meet your eye before a crowd—
I am a very coward.
Egmont.
Not so; it is not fear; but a sweet shame
That sends the rose so frequent to your cheek.
Clara.
(Kneels at his feet, and looks up into his face.)
Let me gaze on thee! Let me read those eyes!
And aye, within them comfort, joy, and hope.
The history of my life is written there.
Oh! tell me—are you mine—my very own—
Mine—Egmont—the great Egmont—on whose smile
So much depends—on whom the city trusts—
He who hath given to so many life.
Egmont.
No, I am not he.
Clara.
