"struck its roots
too deeply into his heart" to permit him, in this their parting
interview, to neglect a last effort, even if this solemn warning were
destined to be disregarded.

By any reasonable construction of history, Philip was an unscrupulous
usurper, who was attempting to convert himself from a Duke of Brabant and
a Count of Holland into an absolute king. It was William who was
maintaining, Philip who was destroying; and the monarch who was thus
blasting the happiness of the provinces, and about to decimate their
population, was by the same process to undermine his own power forever,
and to divest himself of his richest inheritance. The man on whom he
might have leaned for support, had he been capable of comprehending his
character, and of understanding the age in which he had himself been
called upon to reign, was, through Philip's own insanity, converted into
the instrument by which his most valuable provinces were, to be taken
from him, and eventually re-organized into: an independent commonwealth.
Could a vision, like that imagined by the immortal dramatist for another
tyrant and murderer, have revealed the future to Philip, he, too, might
have beheld his victim, not crowned himself, but pointing to a line of
kings, even to some who 'two-fold balls and treble sceptres carried', and
smiling on them for his. But such considerations as these had no effect
upon the Prince of Orange. He knew himself already proscribed, and he
knew that the secret condemnation had extended to Egmont also. He was
anxious that his friend should prefer the privations of exile, with the
chance of becoming the champion of a struggling country, to the wretched
fate towards which his blind confidence was leading him. Even then it
seemed possible that the brave soldier, who had been recently defiling
his sword in the cause of tyranny, might be come mindful of his brighter
and earlier fame. Had Egmont been as true to his native land as, until
"the long divorce of steel fell on him," he was faithful to Philip, he
might yet have earned brighter laurels than those gained at St. Quentin
and Gravelines. Was he doomed to fall, he might find a glorious death
upon freedom's battle-field, in place of that darker departure then so
near him, which the prophetic language of Orange depicted, but which he
was too sanguine to fear. He spoke with confidence of the royal clemency.
"Alas, Egmont," answered the Prince, "the King's clemency, of which you
bo