But the father sprang up, and said, in words full of anger
“Little comfort you give me, in truth!  I always have said it,
When you took pleasure in horses, and cared for nothing but fieldwork;
That which the servants of prosperous people perform as their duty,
You yourself do; meanwhile the father his son must dispense with,
Who in his honour was wont to court the rest of the townsfolk. 
Thus with empty hopes your mother early deceived me,
When your reading, and writing, and learning at school ne’er succeeded
Like the rest of the boys, and so you were always the lowest. 
This all comes from a youth not possessing a due sense of honour,
And not having the spirit to try and raise his position. 
Had my father but cared for me, as I have for you, sir,
Sent me to school betimes, and given me proper instructors,
I should not merely have been the host of the famed Golden Lion.”

But the son arose, and approach’d the doorway in silence,
Slowly, and making no noise:  but then the father in dudgeon
After him shouted:—­“Be off!  I know you’re an obstinate fellow! 
Go and look after the business; else I shall scold you severely;
But don’t fancy I’ll ever allow you to bring home in triumph
As my daughter-in-law any boorish impudent hussy. 
Long have I lived in the world, and know how to manage most people,
Know how to entertain ladies and gentlemen, so that they leave me
In good humour, and know how to flatter a stranger discreetly. 
But my daughter-in-law must have useful qualities also,
And be able to soften my manifold cares and vexations. 
She must also play on the piano, that all the best people
Here in the town may take pleasure in often coming to see us,
As in the house of our neighbour the merchant happens each Sunday.” 
Softly the son at these words raised the latch, and left the apartment.
-----
III.  Thalia.

The burghers.

Thus did the prudent son escape from the hot conversation,
But the father continued precisely as he had begun it
What is not in a man can never come out of him, surely! 
Never, I fear, shall I see fulfill’d my dearest of wishes,
That my son should be unlike his father, but better. 
What would be the fate of a house or a town, if its inmates
Did not all take pride in preserving, renewing, improving,
As we are taught by the age, and by the wisdom of strangers? 
Man is not born to spring out of the ground, just like a mere mushroom,
And to rot away soon in the very place that produced him! 
Leaving behind him no trace of what he has done in his lifetime. 
One can judge by the look of a house of the taste of its master,
As on ent’ring a town, one can judge the authorities’ fitness. 
For where the towers and walls are falling, where in the ditches
Dirt is collected, and dirt in every street is seen lying,