The three tours of Doctor Syntax In search of 1. The picturesque, 2. Of consolation, 3. Of a wife. The text complete. [By William Combe] With four illustrations |
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
19
CANTO VI.
What various evils man await, In this strange sublunary state!
No sooner is he cheer'd by joy, Than sorrows come, and pains annoy;
And scarce his lips were op'd to bless The transient gleam of happiness,
Than some dark cloud obscures the sky,
And grief's sad moisture fills the eye.
Thus, while the Doctor smiling stole
From the clear glass each witty scroll,
He felt, to interrupt the treat, The scalding torment in his feet:
And thus awaken'd from his trance, Began to skip, and jump, and dance.
“Take off my shoes,” he raving cried, “And let my gaiters be untied.”
When Dolly with a nimble hand, Instant obeyed the loud command;
And, as he lolled upon the chair, His feet and ancles soon were bare.
Away th'impatient damsel run, To cure the mischief she had done;
And quick return'd with liquid store, To rub his feet and ancles o'er;
Nor was the tender office vain; It soon assuag'd the burning pain.
A tear was seen on Dolly's cheek:
Who sigh'd as if her heart would break.
“Be not, my girl, with care oppress'd;
I'm now,” says Syntax, “quite at rest:
My anger's vanish'd with the pain; No more, my dear, shall I complain,
Since to get rid of my disaster, So fair a maid presents the plaister.”
Thus did he Dolly's care beguile, And turn'd her tears into a smile.
But, while she cool'd the raging part,
She somehow warm'd the Doctor's heart;
And, as she rubb'd the ointment in,
He pinch'd her cheeks and chuck'd her chin;
And, when she had redress'd his shanks,
He with a kiss bestow'd his thanks;
While gentle Dolly, nothing loth,
Consenting smil'd, and took them both.
“I think,” said she, “you'd better stay, Nor travel further on to-day:”—
And though she said it with a smile, His steady purpose to beguile,
The Doctor clos'd the kind debate, By ord'ring Grizzle to the gate.
No sooner is he cheer'd by joy, Than sorrows come, and pains annoy;
And scarce his lips were op'd to bless The transient gleam of happiness,
Than some dark cloud obscures the sky,
And grief's sad moisture fills the eye.
Thus, while the Doctor smiling stole
From the clear glass each witty scroll,
He felt, to interrupt the treat, The scalding torment in his feet:
And thus awaken'd from his trance, Began to skip, and jump, and dance.
“Take off my shoes,” he raving cried, “And let my gaiters be untied.”
When Dolly with a nimble hand, Instant obeyed the loud command;
And, as he lolled upon the chair, His feet and ancles soon were bare.
Away th'impatient damsel run, To cure the mischief she had done;
And quick return'd with liquid store, To rub his feet and ancles o'er;
Nor was the tender office vain; It soon assuag'd the burning pain.
A tear was seen on Dolly's cheek:
Who sigh'd as if her heart would break.
“Be not, my girl, with care oppress'd;
I'm now,” says Syntax, “quite at rest:
My anger's vanish'd with the pain; No more, my dear, shall I complain,
Since to get rid of my disaster, So fair a maid presents the plaister.”
Thus did he Dolly's care beguile, And turn'd her tears into a smile.
But, while she cool'd the raging part,
She somehow warm'd the Doctor's heart;
And, as she rubb'd the ointment in,
He pinch'd her cheeks and chuck'd her chin;
And, when she had redress'd his shanks,
He with a kiss bestow'd his thanks;
While gentle Dolly, nothing loth,
Consenting smil'd, and took them both.
“I think,” said she, “you'd better stay, Nor travel further on to-day:”—
And though she said it with a smile, His steady purpose to beguile,
The Doctor clos'd the kind debate, By ord'ring Grizzle to the gate.
Now, undisturb'd, he took his way, And travell'd till the close of day;
When, to delight his weary eyes, Before him Oxford's tow'rs arise.
“O, Alma Mater!” Syntax cried, “My present boast, my early pride;
To whose protecting care I owe All I've forgot, and all I know:
Deign from your nursling to receive The homage that his heart can give!
Hail! sacred, ever-honoured shades
Where oft I woo'd th'immortal maids;
Where strolling oft, at break of day,
My feet have brush'd the dews away!
By Isis and by Cherwell stream, How oft I wove the classic dream,
Or sought the Cloisters dim, to meet Pale science in her lone retreat!
The sight of you again inspires My bosom with its former fires:
I feel again the genial glow That makes me half forget the woe
And all my aching heart could tell,
Since last I bid these scenes farewell.”
When, to delight his weary eyes, Before him Oxford's tow'rs arise.
“O, Alma Mater!” Syntax cried, “My present boast, my early pride;
To whose protecting care I owe All I've forgot, and all I know:
Deign from your nursling to receive The homage that his heart can give!
Hail! sacred, ever-honoured shades
Where oft I woo'd th'immortal maids;
Where strolling oft, at break of day,
My feet have brush'd the dews away!
By Isis and by Cherwell stream, How oft I wove the classic dream,
Or sought the Cloisters dim, to meet Pale science in her lone retreat!
The sight of you again inspires My bosom with its former fires:
I feel again the genial glow That makes me half forget the woe
And all my aching heart could tell,
Since last I bid these scenes farewell.”
20
Thus Syntax moved in sober pace, Beset with academic grace;
While Grizzle bore him up the town, And at the Mitre set him down.
The night was pass'd in sound repose,
And as the clock struck nine he 'rose.
The barber now applies his art,
To shave him clean, and make him smart:
From him he learn'd that Dickey Bend, His early academic friend,
As a reward for all his knowledge,
Was made the Provost of his College;
And fame declar'd that he had clear
At least twelve hundred pounds a year.
“O ho!” says Syntax, “if that's true, I cannot surely better do
Than further progress to delay, And with Friend Dickey pass a day.”
Away he hied, and soon he found him,
With all his many comforts round him.
The Provost hail'd the happy meeting,
And after kind and mutual greeting,
To make enquiries he began;— And thus the conversation ran.
Provost.—
While Grizzle bore him up the town, And at the Mitre set him down.
The night was pass'd in sound repose,
And as the clock struck nine he 'rose.
The barber now applies his art,
To shave him clean, and make him smart:
From him he learn'd that Dickey Bend, His early academic friend,
As a reward for all his knowledge,
Was made the Provost of his College;
And fame declar'd that he had clear
At least twelve hundred pounds a year.
“O ho!” says Syntax, “if that's true, I cannot surely better do
Than further progress to delay, And with Friend Dickey pass a day.”
Away he hied, and soon he found him,
With all his many comforts round him.
The Provost hail'd the happy meeting,
And after kind and mutual greeting,
To make enquiries he began;— And thus the conversation ran.
“Good Doctor Syntax, I rejoice
Once more to hear your well-known voice;
To dine with us I hope you'll stay, And share a College feast to-day.
Full many a year is gone and past Since we beheld each other last;
Fortune has kindly dealt with me,
As you, my friend, may plainly see;
And pray how has she dealt with thee?”
Syntax.—
“Alas! alas! I've played the fool;
I took a wife, and keep a school;
And while on dainties you are fed, I scarce get butter to my bread.”
Provost.—
“For my part, I have never married,
And grieve to hear your plans miscarried:
I hope then my old worthy friend, Your visit here your fate will mend.
My services you may command; I offer them with heart and hand;
And while you think it right to stay,
You'll make this house your home I pray.”
Syntax.—
“I'm going further, on a scheme,
Which you may think an idle dream;
At the fam'd Lakes to take a look, And of my Journey make a Book.”
Provost.—
“I know full well that you have store
Of modern as of classic lore:
And, surely, with your weight of learning,
And all your critical discerning,
You might produce a work of name,
To fill your purse and give you fame,
How oft have we together sought Whate'er the ancient sages taught!”
Syntax.—
“I now perceive that all your knowledge
Is pent, my friend, within your college!
Learning's become a very bore— That fashion long since has been o'er.
A Bookseller may keep his carriage,
And ask ten thousand pounds in marriage;
May have his mansion in a square, And build a house for countryair;
And yet 'tis odds the fellow knows If Horace wrote in verse or prose.
21
If he did not contrive to cook, Each year, his Tour into a book;
A flippant, flashy, flow'ry style, A lazy morning to beguile;
With every other leaf, a print Of some fine view in aqua tint'?
Such is the book I mean to make And I've no doubt the work will take:
For though your wisdom may decry it,
The simple folk will surely buy it.
I will allow it is but trash, But then it furnishes the cash.”
Provost.—
“Why things are not the same, I fear,
As when we both were scholars here;
But still I doubt not your success, And wish you ev'ry happiness;
Myself, and my whole College tribe, Depend upon it will subscribe.”
At length the bell began to call To dinner, in the college-hall;
Nor did the guests delay to meet, Lur'd by the bounty of the treat.
The formal salutations over,
Each drew his chair and seized his cover;
The Provost, in collegiate pride, Plac'd Doctor Syntax by his side;
And soon they heard the hurrying feet
Of those that bore the smoking meat.
Nor did the guests delay to meet, Lur'd by the bounty of the treat.
The formal salutations over,
Each drew his chair and seized his cover;
The Provost, in collegiate pride, Plac'd Doctor Syntax by his side;
And soon they heard the hurrying feet
Of those that bore the smoking meat.
Behold the dishes due appear— Fish in the van, beef in the rear;
But he who the procession led, By some false step or awkward tread,
Or curs'd by some malignant pow'r, Fell headlong on the marble floor,
Ah, heedless wight! ah, hapless dish! Ah! all the luxury of fish!
Thus in a moment spoil'd and wasted; Ah! never, never to be tasted!
But one false step begets another, So they all tumbled one o'er t'other;
And now the pavement was bestrew'd
With roast and boil'd, and fried and stew'd.
The waiters squall'd, their backs bespatter'd
With scalding sauce; the dishes clatter'd
In various discord; while the brawl
Re-echo'd through th'astonish'd hall.
“Well,” said a Don, “as I'm a sinner,
We must go elsewhere for a dinner.”
“'Tis no such thing,” the Head replied,
“You all shall soon be satisfied:
We are but ten: and sure there's plenty;
I order'd full enough for twenty.
I see, my friends, the haunch unspoil'd,
With chickens roast, and turkey boil'd;
The ven'son pasty is secure, The marrow puddings safe and sure;
With ham, and many good things more,
And tarts, and custards, full a score.
Sure, here's enough to cut and carve;
To-day, I think, we shall not starve:
But still I'll make the boobies pay
For the good things they've thrown away.”
Thus ev'ry eye was quickly cheer'd With all the plenty that appear'd;
They eat, and drank, they smok'd, they talk'd,
And round the college-garden walk'd:
But the time came (for time will fly)
When Syntax was to say—“good bye.”
His tongue could scarce his feeling tell,
Could scarce pronounce the word, “farewell!”
The Provost too, whose gen'rous heart
In those same feelings bore a part,
Told him, when he should want a friend,
To write, or come, to Dickey Bend.
But he who the procession led, By some false step or awkward tread,
Or curs'd by some malignant pow'r, Fell headlong on the marble floor,
Ah, heedless wight! ah, hapless dish! Ah! all the luxury of fish!
Thus in a moment spoil'd and wasted; Ah! never, never to be tasted!
But one false step begets another, So they all tumbled one o'er t'other;
And now the pavement was bestrew'd
With roast and boil'd, and fried and stew'd.
The waiters squall'd, their backs bespatter'd
With scalding sauce; the dishes clatter'd
In various discord; while the brawl
Re-echo'd through th'astonish'd hall.
“Well,” said a Don, “as I'm a sinner,
We must go elsewhere for a dinner.”
“'Tis no such thing,” the Head replied,
“You all shall soon be satisfied:
We are but ten: and sure there's plenty;
I order'd full enough for twenty.
I see, my friends, the haunch unspoil'd,
With chickens roast, and turkey boil'd;
The ven'son pasty is secure, The marrow puddings safe and sure;
With ham, and many good things more,
And tarts, and custards, full a score.
Sure, here's enough to cut and carve;
To-day, I think, we shall not starve:
But still I'll make the boobies pay
For the good things they've thrown away.”
Thus ev'ry eye was quickly cheer'd With all the plenty that appear'd;
They eat, and drank, they smok'd, they talk'd,
And round the college-garden walk'd:
But the time came (for time will fly)
When Syntax was to say—“good bye.”
22
Could scarce pronounce the word, “farewell!”
The Provost too, whose gen'rous heart
In those same feelings bore a part,
Told him, when he should want a friend,
To write, or come, to Dickey Bend.
Next morning, at an early hour, Syntax proceeded on his Tour;
And, as he saunter'd on his way, The scene of many a youthful day,
He thought 'twould give his book an air,
If Oxford were well painted there;
And, as he curious look'd around, He saw a spot of rising ground,
From whence the turrets of the city Would make a picture very pretty;
Where Radcliff's dome would intervene,
And Magd'len tower crown the scene.
So Grizzle to a hedge he tied, And onward then impatient hied:
But, as he sought to chuse a part Where he might best display his art,
A wicked bull no sooner view'd him,
Than loud he roar'd, and straight pursu'd him.
The Doctor finding danger near, Flew swiftly on the wings of fear,
And nimbly clamber'd up a tree, That gave him full security;
But as he ran to save his bacon, By hat and wig he was forsaken;
His sketch-book too, he left behind, A prey to the unlucky wind:
While Grizzle, startled by the rout,
Broke from the hedge, and pranc'd about.
Syntax, still trembling with affright,
Clung to the tree with all his might;
He call'd for help—and help was near,
For dogs, and men, and boys appear;
So that his foe was forc'd to yield, And leave him master of the field.
No more of roaring bulls afraid, He left the tree's protecting shade;
And as he pac'd the meadow round,
His hat, his wig, his book he found.
“Come, my old girl,” the Doctor said;
The faithful steed the call obey'd,
So Grizzle once more he bestrode, Nor look'd behind—but off he rode.
And, as he saunter'd on his way, The scene of many a youthful day,
He thought 'twould give his book an air,
If Oxford were well painted there;
And, as he curious look'd around, He saw a spot of rising ground,
From whence the turrets of the city Would make a picture very pretty;
Where Radcliff's dome would intervene,
And Magd'len tower crown the scene.
So Grizzle to a hedge he tied, And onward then impatient hied:
But, as he sought to chuse a part Where he might best display his art,
A wicked bull no sooner view'd him,
Than loud he roar'd, and straight pursu'd him.
The Doctor finding danger near, Flew swiftly on the wings of fear,
And nimbly clamber'd up a tree, That gave him full security;
But as he ran to save his bacon, By hat and wig he was forsaken;
His sketch-book too, he left behind, A prey to the unlucky wind:
While Grizzle, startled by the rout,
Broke from the hedge, and pranc'd about.
Syntax, still trembling with affright,
Clung to the tree with all his might;
He call'd for help—and help was near,
For dogs, and men, and boys appear;
So that his foe was forc'd to yield, And leave him master of the field.
No more of roaring bulls afraid, He left the tree's protecting shade;
And as he pac'd the meadow round,
His hat, his wig, his book he found.
“Come, my old girl,” the Doctor said;
The faithful steed the call obey'd,
So Grizzle once more he bestrode, Nor look'd behind—but off he rode.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |