The velvet is too splendid! and the braiding! and the embroidery! One knows not where to begin. Egmont. There, look thy fill. Clara. And the Golden Fleece! You told me its history, and said it is the symbol of everything great and precious, of everything that can be merited and won by diligence and toil. It is very precious--I may liken it to thy love;--even so I wear it next my heart;--and then-- Egmont. What wilt thou say? Clara. And then again it is not like. Egmont. How so? Clara. I have not won it by diligence and toil, I have not deserved it. Egmont. It is otherwise in love. Thou dost deserve it because thou hast not   sought it--and, for the most part, those only obtain love who seek it not. Clara. Is it from thine own experience that thou hast learned this? Didst thou make that proud remark in reference to thyself? Thou, whom all the people love? Egmont. Would that I had done something for them! That I could do anything for them! It is their own good pleasure to love me. Clara. Thou hast doubtless been with the Regent to-day? Egmont. I have. Clara. Art thou upon good terms with her? Egmont So it would appear. We are kind and serviceable to each other. Clara. And in thy heart? Egmont. I like her. True, we have each our own views; but that is nothing to the purpose. She is an excellent woman, knows with whom she has to deal, and would be penetrating enough were she not quite so suspicious. I give her plenty of employment, because she is always suspecting some secret motive in my conduct when, in fact, I have none. Clara. Really none? Egmont. Well, with one little exception, perhaps. All wine deposits lees in the cask in the course of time. Orange furnishes her still better entertainment, and is a perpetual riddle. He has got the credit of harbouring some secret design; and she studies his brow to discover his thoughts, and his steps, to learn in what direction they are bent. Clara. Does she dissemble? Egmont. She is Regent--and do you ask?