Clara (sings). Blissful And tearful, With thought-teeming brain; Hoping And fearing In passionate pain; Now shouting in triumph, Now sunk in despair;-- With love's thrilling rapture What joy can compare! Mother. Have done with such baby-nonsense! Clara. Nay, do not abuse it; 'tis a song of marvellous virtue. Many a time have I lulled a grown child to sleep with it. Mother. Ay! Thou canst think of nothing but thy love. If it only did not put everything else out of thy head. Thou shouldst have more regard for Brackenburg, I tell thee. He may make thee happy yet some day. Clara. He? Mother. Oh, yes! A time will come! You children live only in the present, and give no ear to our experience. Youth and happy love, all has an end; and there comes a time when one thanks God if one has any comer to creep into. Clara (shudders, and after a pause stands up). Mother, let that time come-- like death. To think of it beforehand is horrible! And if it come! If we must--then--we will bear ourselves as we may. Live without thee, Egmont! (Weeping.) No! It is impossible. [Enter Egmont (enveloped in a horseman's cloak, his hat drawn over his face). Egmont. Clara! Clara (utters a cry and starts back). Egmont! (She hastens towards him.) Egmont! (She embraces and leans upon him.) O thou good, kind, sweet Egmont! Art thou come? Art thou here indeed! Egmont. Good evening, Mother? Mother. God save you, noble sir! My daughter has well-nigh pined to death, because you have stayed away so long; she talks and sings about you the live-long day. Egmont. You will give me some supper? Mother. You do us too much honour. If we only had anything-- Clara. Certainly! Be quiet, Mother; I have provided everything; there is something prepared. Do not betray me, Mother. Mother. There's little enough.