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 |  |
“What I now read, I well may say, Is what men hear of ev'ry day:
Of all the paths that lead through Life,
Of joy and sorrow, peace and strife:
Of station's proud and splendid state, Of what is good, of what is great;
Of what is base, of what is mean, The strut of Pride, the look serene,
The comic and the tragic scene:
Of those who 'neath the portals proud Disdain to join the vulgar crowd,
While at Ambition's splendid shrine
They bend and call the thing divine;
Or those who, by their airs and graces,
Their smiling looks, their painted faces,
Strive some gay, glitt'ring toy to gain And often strive and toil in vain:
The haughty stride of bloated power,
Gay pleasure's couch in gilded bower;
The warrior's spear bedipp'd in blood, And discord wild in angry mood:
Of all the scenes where fancy ranges,
Its sportive tricks, its endless changes,
Of rival foes, who, big with hate, Give and receive the stroke of fate;
Of Cupid's fond and doleful ditties,
Which passion sings and reason pities;
Of love requited or forlorn, Of faith return'd or mock'd with scorn:
Of fortune with her smiling train, Or downcast ne'er to rise again;
Or those by fate ordained to feel Th'alternate whirlings of its wheel:
Of virtue to each duty just, Of fraud, low rankling in the dust;
Of Friendship's strong, unbroken tie, Affection's heart-felt sympathy;
Of Hatred's fierce and scowling frown, And Jealousy that does not own,
Its wakeful pang; of pallid Fear, Or Cunning's shrewd, insidious leer;
Of honeymoons that speed so fast,
They're gone before ten days are past:
Of ignorance that never knows From whence it comes or where it goes;
Of Folly in its motley coat, That acts and thinks and talks by rote;
And yet, howe'er by fortune hurl'd,
Skips on and laughs throughout the world;
While Wisdom, though 'tis known to save
A sinking nation from the grave;
Though she alone can form the plan Of real happiness to man;
Will often see her sons neglected,
While knaves and blockheads are protected.
But still the mind that loves her laws,
Whose courage dare support her cause,
Though fools may scoff and knaves may grin,
And join the senseless rabble's din,
May, for base ends, roar loud and bellow
For any factious Punchinello;
He that with virtue is endued, Will win th'applauses of the good,
And more, altho' the crowd may frown, He will be sure to have his own,
And what by kings can ne'er be given,
He will possess the smiles of Heaven.—
If such distinctions then pervade, By rigid rules, the writer's trade;
Whether in folios they deal, Or in the daily page reveal,
By reas'ning prose, or lively rhymes, The hist'ry of the passing times;
They who from party views or ends,
Ne'er strive to serve their private friends,
Or with design'd intention stray From truth's clear, open, manly way;
Their works, whate'er may be their name
Deserve the grateful meed of fame,
What human nature's known to feel
The pages must with care reveal:
What human nature's doom'd to do, These pages hold to public view:
Of all things that we daily see, They give the passing history.
The Journalists are bound to tell,
When things go ill, when things go well.
It is their office e'en to draw An owl, a pheasant, a mackaw,
Whether of bright or dingy feather, Or separate, or all together:
Whether in sunshine or by night, Objects are offer'd to the sight:
To paint as forms appear, the shape Of an Apollo or an ape,
And solid, sound instruction give Or from the dead, or those who live:—
To offer praise, or let loose blame On vice or virtue's various aim;
To shoot their darts as folly flies, And give protection to the wise:
While they as steersmen strive to guide
Each bark that's carried by the tide,
And with its cargo wins its way From hour to hour, from day to day,
Just as the stream or varying gale
Claims the strong oar, or swells the sail.
—This task, thus carefully pursued Deserves the fame of doing good;
Though if their interest gives them leave My double dealing to deceive;
If they the cause of truth betray, And deal forth falsehoods day by day;
If they from any cause inherit A factious zeal, a party spirit,
If they, the fix'd determin'd foes, Whoe'er they be, of these or those,
Employ a subtle, partial pen, Not 'gainst the measures but the men,
If they from justice dare to swerve, I know full well what they deserve.
Of all the paths that lead through Life,
Of joy and sorrow, peace and strife:
Of station's proud and splendid state, Of what is good, of what is great;
Of what is base, of what is mean, The strut of Pride, the look serene,
The comic and the tragic scene:
Of those who 'neath the portals proud Disdain to join the vulgar crowd,
While at Ambition's splendid shrine
They bend and call the thing divine;
Or those who, by their airs and graces,
Their smiling looks, their painted faces,
Strive some gay, glitt'ring toy to gain And often strive and toil in vain:
The haughty stride of bloated power,
Gay pleasure's couch in gilded bower;
The warrior's spear bedipp'd in blood, And discord wild in angry mood:
Of all the scenes where fancy ranges,
Its sportive tricks, its endless changes,
Of rival foes, who, big with hate, Give and receive the stroke of fate;
Of Cupid's fond and doleful ditties,
Which passion sings and reason pities;
Of love requited or forlorn, Of faith return'd or mock'd with scorn:
Of fortune with her smiling train, Or downcast ne'er to rise again;
Or those by fate ordained to feel Th'alternate whirlings of its wheel:
Of virtue to each duty just, Of fraud, low rankling in the dust;
Of Friendship's strong, unbroken tie, Affection's heart-felt sympathy;
Of Hatred's fierce and scowling frown, And Jealousy that does not own,
Its wakeful pang; of pallid Fear, Or Cunning's shrewd, insidious leer;
174
They're gone before ten days are past:
Of ignorance that never knows From whence it comes or where it goes;
Of Folly in its motley coat, That acts and thinks and talks by rote;
And yet, howe'er by fortune hurl'd,
Skips on and laughs throughout the world;
While Wisdom, though 'tis known to save
A sinking nation from the grave;
Though she alone can form the plan Of real happiness to man;
Will often see her sons neglected,
While knaves and blockheads are protected.
But still the mind that loves her laws,
Whose courage dare support her cause,
Though fools may scoff and knaves may grin,
And join the senseless rabble's din,
May, for base ends, roar loud and bellow
For any factious Punchinello;
He that with virtue is endued, Will win th'applauses of the good,
And more, altho' the crowd may frown, He will be sure to have his own,
And what by kings can ne'er be given,
He will possess the smiles of Heaven.—
If such distinctions then pervade, By rigid rules, the writer's trade;
Whether in folios they deal, Or in the daily page reveal,
By reas'ning prose, or lively rhymes, The hist'ry of the passing times;
They who from party views or ends,
Ne'er strive to serve their private friends,
Or with design'd intention stray From truth's clear, open, manly way;
Their works, whate'er may be their name
Deserve the grateful meed of fame,
What human nature's known to feel
The pages must with care reveal:
What human nature's doom'd to do, These pages hold to public view:
Of all things that we daily see, They give the passing history.
The Journalists are bound to tell,
When things go ill, when things go well.
It is their office e'en to draw An owl, a pheasant, a mackaw,
Whether of bright or dingy feather, Or separate, or all together:
Whether in sunshine or by night, Objects are offer'd to the sight:
To paint as forms appear, the shape Of an Apollo or an ape,
And solid, sound instruction give Or from the dead, or those who live:—
To offer praise, or let loose blame On vice or virtue's various aim;
To shoot their darts as folly flies, And give protection to the wise:
While they as steersmen strive to guide
Each bark that's carried by the tide,
And with its cargo wins its way From hour to hour, from day to day,
Just as the stream or varying gale
Claims the strong oar, or swells the sail.
—This task, thus carefully pursued Deserves the fame of doing good;
Though if their interest gives them leave My double dealing to deceive;
If they the cause of truth betray, And deal forth falsehoods day by day;
If they from any cause inherit A factious zeal, a party spirit,
175
Employ a subtle, partial pen, Not 'gainst the measures but the men,
If they from justice dare to swerve, I know full well what they deserve.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |