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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| VII. | CANTO VII. |
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
CANTO VII.
Fix'd in cogitation deep, Adown the hill and up the steep,
Along the moor and through the wood,
Syntax his pensive way pursu'd:
And now his thoughts began to roam To the good woman left at home;
How she employ'd the passing day When her fond mate was far away;
For they possess'd, with all their pother,
A sneaking kindness for each other.
Proud of her husband's stock of learning,
His classic skill and deep discerning,
No tongue she suffer'd to dethrone
His fond importance—but her own.
Besides, she was a very bee In bustle and in industry;
And though a pointed sting she bore,
That sometimes made the Doctor sore,
She help'd to make the household thrive,
And brought home honey to the hive.
He too had not forgot her charms, When first he took her to his arms;
For, if report relates the truth, She was a beauty in her youth:
The charming Dolly was well known To be the toast of all the town;
And, though full many a year was gone
Since this good dame was twenty-one,
She still retain'd the air and mien Of the nice girl she once had been.
For these, and other charms beside,
She was indeed the Doctor's pride;
Nay, he would sometimes on her gaze
With the fond looks of former days,
And whatsoe'er she did or said, He kept his silence and obey'd.
Besides his mind he thus consol'd; “'Tis classical to be a scold;
For, as the ancient tomes record, Zantippe's tongue was like a sword:
She was about my Dolly's age, And the known help-mate of a sage.
Thus Socrates, in days of yore, The self-same persecution bore:
Nor shall I blush to share the fate Of one so good—of one so great.”
'Twas now five days since they had parted,
And he was ever tender-hearted:
Whene'er he heard the wretched sigh, He felt a Christian sympathy;
For though he play'd the demi-god Among his boys, with rule and rod;
What! though he spoke in pompous phrase,
And kept the vulgar in amaze;
Though self-important he would stride
Along the street with priestly pride;
Though his strange figure would provoke
The passing smile, the passing joke;
Among the high, or with the low, Syntax had never made a foe;
And, though the jest of all he knew,
Yet, while they laugh'd they lov'd him too:
No wonder then, so far from home,
His head would shake, the sigh would come.
Thus he went gently on his way, Till the sun mark'd declining day.
Along the moor and through the wood,
Syntax his pensive way pursu'd:
And now his thoughts began to roam To the good woman left at home;
How she employ'd the passing day When her fond mate was far away;
For they possess'd, with all their pother,
A sneaking kindness for each other.
Proud of her husband's stock of learning,
His classic skill and deep discerning,
No tongue she suffer'd to dethrone
His fond importance—but her own.
Besides, she was a very bee In bustle and in industry;
23
That sometimes made the Doctor sore,
She help'd to make the household thrive,
And brought home honey to the hive.
He too had not forgot her charms, When first he took her to his arms;
For, if report relates the truth, She was a beauty in her youth:
The charming Dolly was well known To be the toast of all the town;
And, though full many a year was gone
Since this good dame was twenty-one,
She still retain'd the air and mien Of the nice girl she once had been.
For these, and other charms beside,
She was indeed the Doctor's pride;
Nay, he would sometimes on her gaze
With the fond looks of former days,
And whatsoe'er she did or said, He kept his silence and obey'd.
Besides his mind he thus consol'd; “'Tis classical to be a scold;
For, as the ancient tomes record, Zantippe's tongue was like a sword:
She was about my Dolly's age, And the known help-mate of a sage.
Thus Socrates, in days of yore, The self-same persecution bore:
Nor shall I blush to share the fate Of one so good—of one so great.”
'Twas now five days since they had parted,
And he was ever tender-hearted:
Whene'er he heard the wretched sigh, He felt a Christian sympathy;
For though he play'd the demi-god Among his boys, with rule and rod;
What! though he spoke in pompous phrase,
And kept the vulgar in amaze;
Though self-important he would stride
Along the street with priestly pride;
Though his strange figure would provoke
The passing smile, the passing joke;
Among the high, or with the low, Syntax had never made a foe;
And, though the jest of all he knew,
Yet, while they laugh'd they lov'd him too:
No wonder then, so far from home,
His head would shake, the sigh would come.
Thus he went gently on his way, Till the sun mark'd declining day.
But Thought as well as grief is dry, And, lo! a friendly cot was nigh,
Whose sign, high dangling in the air, Invites the trav'ller to repair,
Where he in comfort may regale, With cooling pipe and foaming ale.
The Doctor gave the loud command,
And sees the Host beside him stand;
Then quits his steed with usual state,
And passes through the wicket-gate;
The Hostess opes the willing door,
And then recounts the humble store
Which her poor cottage could afford, To place upon the frugal board.
The home-spun napkin soon was laid, The table all its ware display'd;
The well-broil'd rasher then appear'd,
And with fresh eggs his stomach cheer'd;
The crusty pye, with apples lin'd,
Sweeten'd the feast on which he din'd,
And liquor, that was brew'd at home, Among the rest was seen to foam.
The Doctor drank—the Doctor eat, Well pleas'd to find so fair a treat;
Then to his pipe he kindly took, And with a condescending look,
Call'd on the Hostess to relate What was the village name and state;
And to whose office it was given
To teach them all the way to Heav'n.
Hostess.—
Whose sign, high dangling in the air, Invites the trav'ller to repair,
Where he in comfort may regale, With cooling pipe and foaming ale.
The Doctor gave the loud command,
And sees the Host beside him stand;
Then quits his steed with usual state,
And passes through the wicket-gate;
The Hostess opes the willing door,
And then recounts the humble store
Which her poor cottage could afford, To place upon the frugal board.
The home-spun napkin soon was laid, The table all its ware display'd;
The well-broil'd rasher then appear'd,
And with fresh eggs his stomach cheer'd;
The crusty pye, with apples lin'd,
Sweeten'd the feast on which he din'd,
24
The Doctor drank—the Doctor eat, Well pleas'd to find so fair a treat;
Then to his pipe he kindly took, And with a condescending look,
Call'd on the Hostess to relate What was the village name and state;
And to whose office it was given
To teach them all the way to Heav'n.
“The land belongs to 'Squire Bounty,
No better man lives in the county.
I wish the Rector were the same;
One Doctor Squees'em is his name;
But we ne'er see him—more's the shame!
And while in wealth he cuts and carves,
The worthy Curate prays and starves.”
Syntax.—
“I truly wish that he were here
To take a pipe and share my beer;
I know what 'tis as well as he, To serve a man I never see.”
Just as he spoke, the Curate came:—
“This, this is he!” exclaim'd the dame.
Syntax his brother Parson greeted,
And begg'd him to be quickly seated;
“Come take a pipe, and taste the liquor,
'Tis good enough for any Vicar.”
Curate.—
“Alas! Sir, I'm no Vicar;—I,
Bound to an humble Curacy,
With all my care can scarce contrive To keep my family alive.
While the fat Rector can afford To eat and drink like any Lord:
But know, Sir, I'm a man of letters, And ne'er speak evil of my betters.”
Syntax.—
“That's good;—but when we suffer pain,
'Tis Nature's office to complain;
And when the strong oppress the weak,
Justice, though blind, will always speak.
Tell me, have you explain'd your case, With due humility and grace?”
The great and wealthy must be flatter'd
They love with praise to be bespatter'd:
Indeed, I cannot see the harm, If thus you can their favour charm;
If by fine phrases you can bend The pride of Power to be your friend.
Curate.—
“I wrote, I'm sure, in humblest style,
And prais'd his goodness all the while:
I begg'd, as things had grown so dear,
He'd raise my pay ten pounds a year;
And, as I now had children five, The finest little bairns alive,
While their poor, fond and faithful mother
Would soon present me with another;
And, as the living brought him, clear,
At least a thousand pounds a year,
He'd grant the favour I implore, Nor let me starve upon threescore.”
Syntax.—
“Now I should like without delay,
To hear what this rich man could say;
For I can well perceive, my friend, That you did not obtain your end.”
Curate.—
“The postman soon a letter brought,
Which cost me six-pence and a groat;
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The rudeness which the page express'd.
‘Such suits as yours may well miscarry,
For beggars should not dare to marry;
At least, for I will not deceive you, I never, never will relieve you;
And if you trouble me, be sure You shall be ousted from the Cure.’
But I shall now, good Sir, refrain,
Because I know 'twould give you pain,
From telling all that in his spite, The arch old scoundrel chose to write;
For know, Sir, I'm a man of letters, And never will abuse my betters.”
Syntax.—
“Zounds!—'tis enough to make one swear,
Nor can I such a monster bear:
But, think, my friend, on that great day
Of strict account, when he must pay
For all his cruelty and lies: Then he shall sink, and you will rise.”
Curate.—
“The terms, I own, are not quite civil,
But he's the offspring of the devil;
And, when the day of life is past, He'll with his father dwell at last:
But know, Sir, I'm a man of letters, And ne'er wish evil to my betters.”
'Twas thus they talk'd and drank their ale,
Till the dim shades of eve prevail;
When Syntax settled each demand:
And, while he held the Curate's hand,
Bid him be stout, and not despair, “The poor are God's peculiar care:
You're not the only one, my friend, Who has with evil to contend!
Resign yourself to what is given:
Be good, and leave the rest to Heaven.”
Syntax, we've said, was tender hearted;
He dropp'd a tear, and then departed.
The evening lower'd,—a drizzly rain
Had spread a mist o'er all the plain;
Besides, the home-brew'd beer began To prey upon the inward man;
And Syntax, muddled, did not know Or where he was, or where to go.
An active horseman by him trotted, And Syntax was not so besotted
But he could hiccup out “My friend, Do tell me, if this way will tend,
To bring me to some place of rest?”
“Yes,” 'twas replied—“the very best
Of all our inns within a mile, Will soon yoor weariness beguile.”
Who should this be but 'Squire Bounty,
So much belov'd throughout the county,
And he resolv'd, by way of jest, To have the Parson for his guest;
So on he gallopp'd, to prepare His people for the friendly snare.
The Doctor came in tipsy state; The 'Squire receiv'd him at the gate,
And to a parlour led him straight; Then plac'd him in an easy chair,
And ask'd to know his pleasure there.
Syntax.—
“Landlord, I'm sadly splash'd with mire
And chill'd with rain, so light a fire;
And tell the Ostler to take care Of that good beast, my Grizzle mare;
And what your larder can afford, Pray place it quickly on the board.”
'Squire.—
“We've butcher's meat, of ev'ry kind;
But, if that is not to your mind,
26
Syntax.—
“'Tell me, my honest friend, I pray,
What kind of fowl or fish are they?
Besides, my very civil Host, I wish to know what they will cost;
For a poor Parson can't afford To live on dainties like a lord.”
'Squire.—
“The Clergy, Sir, when here they stay,
Are never, never ask'd to pay:
I love the Church, and, for its sake, I ne'er make bills or reck'nings take;
Proud if its ministers receive The little that I have to give.”
Syntax.—
“Why, then, my friend, you're never dull;
Your inn, I trow, is always full:—
'Tis a good rule, must be confest, But, though I blink, I see a jest.”
'Squire.—
“No, Sir; you see the cloth is laid,
And not a farthing to be paid.”
Syntax.—
“I find my head's not very clear;
My eyes see double too, I fear;
For all these things can never be Prepar'd for such a guest as me:
A banquet, it must be allow'd, Of which Olympus might be proud.”
Thus Syntax eat and drank his fill, Regardless of his morrow's bill;
He rang the bell, and call'd the waiters,
To rid him of his shoes and gaiters.
“Go tell the maid to shew the bed, Where I may lay my aching head;
Here, take my wig and bring a cap; My eye-lids languish for a nap:
No court'sying, pray; I want no fawning,
For I shall break my jaws with yawning.”
Now Kitty, to adorn his crown, Brought him a night-cap of her own;
And, having put it on, she bound it
With a pink ribbon round and round it.
In this fine guise was Syntax led Up the best stairs, and put to bed.
Though mirth prevail'd the house throughout,
Though it was all one revel rout,
He heard it not, nor did he know The merriment he caus'd below;
For, with fatigue and wine oppress'd,
He grunted, groan'd, and went to rest.
But when the sun in Thetis' lap Had taken out his usual nap,
Syntax awoke, and looking 'round, The sight his senses quite confound.
He saw that he had laid his head Within a fine-wrought silken bed:
A gaudy carpet grac'd the floor And gilded mouldings deck'd the door,
Nor did the mirror fail to show His own sweet form from top to toe.
“If I,” said he, “remember right, I was most lordly drunk last night:
And, as the Tinker in the play Was taken, when dead drunk he lay,
And made a Lord for half a day;
I think that some one has made free
To play the self same trick with me:
But I'll contrive to be possest Of this same secret when I am drest;
To find it out—I'll ring the bell; The chamber-maid the truth may tell.”
She soon appear'd, and court'sying low:
Requested his commands to know.—
“When and how did I come here? You'll be so good to say, my dear.”
“—You came last night, not very late,
About the time the clock struck eight;
And I have heard the servants say,
They thought that you had lost your way.”
“—Inform me, also, how you call
This noble inn?” “'Tis Welcome Hall.”
“And pray who have you in your house?”
“We've 'Squire Bounty and his spouse;
With Lady and Sir William Hearty,
And, you, good Sir, may join the party:
Indeed, I'm order'd to request That you will be their morning guest.”
To question more he did not stay, But bid the damsel shew the way.
O! 'twas a very pleasant meeting: The Landlord gave a hearty greeting,
And plac'd the Doctor in a chair, Between two Ladies, young and fair.
Syntax, well-pleas'd began to prate, And all his history to relate;
While mirth and laughter loud prevail, As he let forth the curious tale
At length the 'Squire explain'd the joke;
When thus the Doctor quaintly spoke:—
“I beg, Sir, no excuse you'll make, Your merriment I kindly take;
And only wish the gods would give Such jesting ev'ry day I live.”
He rang the bell, and call'd the waiters,
To rid him of his shoes and gaiters.
“Go tell the maid to shew the bed, Where I may lay my aching head;
Here, take my wig and bring a cap; My eye-lids languish for a nap:
No court'sying, pray; I want no fawning,
For I shall break my jaws with yawning.”
Now Kitty, to adorn his crown, Brought him a night-cap of her own;
And, having put it on, she bound it
With a pink ribbon round and round it.
In this fine guise was Syntax led Up the best stairs, and put to bed.
Though mirth prevail'd the house throughout,
Though it was all one revel rout,
He heard it not, nor did he know The merriment he caus'd below;
For, with fatigue and wine oppress'd,
He grunted, groan'd, and went to rest.
But when the sun in Thetis' lap Had taken out his usual nap,
Syntax awoke, and looking 'round, The sight his senses quite confound.
He saw that he had laid his head Within a fine-wrought silken bed:
A gaudy carpet grac'd the floor And gilded mouldings deck'd the door,
Nor did the mirror fail to show His own sweet form from top to toe.
“If I,” said he, “remember right, I was most lordly drunk last night:
And, as the Tinker in the play Was taken, when dead drunk he lay,
And made a Lord for half a day;
I think that some one has made free
To play the self same trick with me:
But I'll contrive to be possest Of this same secret when I am drest;
To find it out—I'll ring the bell; The chamber-maid the truth may tell.”
She soon appear'd, and court'sying low:
Requested his commands to know.—
“When and how did I come here? You'll be so good to say, my dear.”
“—You came last night, not very late,
About the time the clock struck eight;
27
They thought that you had lost your way.”
“—Inform me, also, how you call
This noble inn?” “'Tis Welcome Hall.”
“And pray who have you in your house?”
“We've 'Squire Bounty and his spouse;
With Lady and Sir William Hearty,
And, you, good Sir, may join the party:
Indeed, I'm order'd to request That you will be their morning guest.”
To question more he did not stay, But bid the damsel shew the way.
O! 'twas a very pleasant meeting: The Landlord gave a hearty greeting,
And plac'd the Doctor in a chair, Between two Ladies, young and fair.
Syntax, well-pleas'd began to prate, And all his history to relate;
While mirth and laughter loud prevail, As he let forth the curious tale
At length the 'Squire explain'd the joke;
When thus the Doctor quaintly spoke:—
“I beg, Sir, no excuse you'll make, Your merriment I kindly take;
And only wish the gods would give Such jesting ev'ry day I live.”
The Ladies press'd his longer stay, But Syntax said—he must away,
So Grizzle soon her master bore, Some new adventure to explore.
So Grizzle soon her master bore, Some new adventure to explore.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |