r business is done. I do not
care if it be but once or twice every three months; come to me in my
timber-yard. Then we will close the doors, seat ourselves in the little
bower, where, when a boy, you used to sit so industriously about your
tasks; there we will spend an hour in happy converse, and drink a glass
of old wine that you shall send me; then I will thank God for my dear
boy, who has continued to be a good son, and, when you leave me again
to repair to your desk, I will give you my blessing, and look after
you, till you are quite out of sight! Do you see, Jack, I ask no
more;--I have no occasion for more; but this I earnestly request of you.
Give me your hand, that you will do it. That is the way I wish you to
honour and to please me.

_P. Coun._ I shall do more, father. Pray accept it, and--

_Clar._ All your other honours are of little estimation in my sight;
these grey hairs, blanched with care and toil, shall never be covered
with a long bushy wig; look at these hands, rough with labour; look on
your father, as you know his ways; you also know that he is neither to
be drawn nor driven out of them; Master Clarenbach, even in the office
of Mayor, would not suit your fine apartments and your fine company.
What, to remain at home, as motionless as an old statue, scarce
permitted to speak to an old friend, lest it should lessen his dignity,
or break in on his gravity! What, to remain in such a situation, and
see people work and move before his window! Jack, that will not do.
Pray, as I never found fault with you for being too high, do not find
fault with me for being too low; it is best suited to my age and
inclinations.

_P. Coun._ Certainly not; but Mr. Reissman insists on it, as a
principal condition.

_Clar._ I hope you know that there is a wide difference betwixt your
father and Mr. Reissman. My axe, since I could raise it, has been
employed in raising houses for the industrious, and his pen, since he
could handle it, in pulling them down again.

_P. Coun._ This is the only service you can render me now father; is it
not unkind to refuse me then?

_Clar._ The only service I can render you now? What, if the cares and
inquietudes of rank and office should lay you on a sick bed, who would
attend you with so much tenderness and affection as your old father?
What if your house should take fire, I would be the first to ascend
through the flames; but I will not climb into office and rank, I tell
you that.