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 |  |
Thus as he did in solemn guise And looks devout soliloquise,
To sacred Calgarth, and to Heaven, His eyes alternately were given.
His hand he wav'd, which seem'd to tell,
As well as hand could speak—farewell!
Though many a fir-clad mountain high
Appear'd to court his curious eye;
Though many a rich or rugged vale
That hugg'd the stream or nurs'd the gale,
Gave to the view the craggy scene Of culture fair or bosom green;
He rather his employment sought In the recess of learned thought;
Nor had he ceas'd thus to explore, Till his day's journey had been o'er;
But Punch ran by him on the road Frisking along without his load;—
While Pat, behind, was loudly bawling,
And kicking in the dust and sprawling.
—The Doctor rous'd by all this clatter,
Return'd to see what was the matter.
“How happen'd it,” he gravely said,
“That on the ground you thus are laid?”
Pat rose,—then gave himself a shake,
And staring did this answer make:
“By my soul, Sir, I scarce can tell,
How I came here,—and why I fell:
But I believe, that, on my way, With nought to do,—and less to say;
Dulness did o'er my senses creep, And I presume I went to sleep.
The flies might sting,—and so the hack
Kick'd his fat load from off his back:
For, faith, I think, he would not take
Such freaks, if I had been awake.
No bones are broke, and I'm not bruis'd,
By this same fall I'm not ill-us'd;
For in such cases, while alive Fat is a fine preservative.
But no harm's done: the worst is past; I wish this fall may be my last;
Though, in this world, as we must own,
There's many an up, and many a down;
As was the joke of my wife Peg,
Who had one short and one long leg,
And when she walk'd about, she knew
Her legs would prove her maxim true.”
Syntax who was so grave by nature, That rarely he relax'd a feature,
Now suffer'd nonsense to beguile His lean, lank face into a smile:
Nay almost laughing, thus he said,
As the thought on his fancy play'd,—
To sacred Calgarth, and to Heaven, His eyes alternately were given.
His hand he wav'd, which seem'd to tell,
As well as hand could speak—farewell!
167
Appear'd to court his curious eye;
Though many a rich or rugged vale
That hugg'd the stream or nurs'd the gale,
Gave to the view the craggy scene Of culture fair or bosom green;
He rather his employment sought In the recess of learned thought;
Nor had he ceas'd thus to explore, Till his day's journey had been o'er;
But Punch ran by him on the road Frisking along without his load;—
While Pat, behind, was loudly bawling,
And kicking in the dust and sprawling.
—The Doctor rous'd by all this clatter,
Return'd to see what was the matter.
“How happen'd it,” he gravely said,
“That on the ground you thus are laid?”
Pat rose,—then gave himself a shake,
And staring did this answer make:
“By my soul, Sir, I scarce can tell,
How I came here,—and why I fell:
But I believe, that, on my way, With nought to do,—and less to say;
Dulness did o'er my senses creep, And I presume I went to sleep.
The flies might sting,—and so the hack
Kick'd his fat load from off his back:
For, faith, I think, he would not take
Such freaks, if I had been awake.
No bones are broke, and I'm not bruis'd,
By this same fall I'm not ill-us'd;
For in such cases, while alive Fat is a fine preservative.
But no harm's done: the worst is past; I wish this fall may be my last;
Though, in this world, as we must own,
There's many an up, and many a down;
As was the joke of my wife Peg,
Who had one short and one long leg,
And when she walk'd about, she knew
Her legs would prove her maxim true.”
Syntax who was so grave by nature, That rarely he relax'd a feature,
Now suffer'd nonsense to beguile His lean, lank face into a smile:
Nay almost laughing, thus he said,
As the thought on his fancy play'd,—
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |