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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Song.
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
184
Song.
Beauty's a fair but short-liv'd flower,
That scarce survives a summer hour!
Is not this true, for you must know, If it is not, O tell me so, O tell me so.
That scarce survives a summer hour!
Is not this true, for you must know, If it is not, O tell me so, O tell me so.
But may not graces deck the fair, When beauty is no longer there?
Is not this true, &c.
Is not this true, &c.
But when the graces too are fled, O may not virtue charm instead?
Is not this true, &c.
And should not virtue's power prove
The cord that binds in lasting love?
Is not this true, &c.
Is not this true, &c.
And should not virtue's power prove
The cord that binds in lasting love?
Is not this true, &c.
For beauty's fatal to the fair, If virtue does not triumph there.
Is not this true, &c.
Lovers would seldom suffer pain,
If they knew how to weave the chain.
Is not this true, &c.
Is not this true, &c.
Lovers would seldom suffer pain,
If they knew how to weave the chain.
Is not this true, &c.
Virtue alone can shield the heart From passion's flaming, fiery dart.
Is not this true, &c.
Is not this true, &c.
And passion's flame depart so soon, It scarce will last the honey-moon:
Is not this true, for you must know, If it is not, O tell me so, O tell me so.
Is not this true, for you must know, If it is not, O tell me so, O tell me so.
Syntax with enraptur'd air Exclaim'd as he rose from his chair,
‘The song's a sermon I avow;— Love I have felt, I feel it now,
And still I'm of that feeling proud!”
—Here 'Squire Hearty laugh'd aloud,
And, in endeav'ring to escape Or get away in any shape,
He by chance fell, then bang'd the door,
And kick'd the screen down on the floor.
The Doctor on the downfall gaz'd, Staring, astonish'd and amaz'd:
While Madam, sinking with alarms,
Fell screaming in his outstretch'd arms,
And while those arms did thus enfold her,
She struggled so he scarce could hold her.
To keep her still, he was not able,
She kick'd him and o'erturn'd the table.
The bottles, plates and glasses clatter;
And now to see what was the matter
The servants enter'd, to whose care, Syntax resign'd the furious fair,
Who with fierce eyes the Doctor view'd;
Said he was ugly, brutal, rude;
And loudly ask'd him how he dare Take such bold liberties with her!
Then added, “Such a shape as thine
Must doubtless be inflam'd with wine,
Thus to disturb my virtue's quiet, With your love's wild licentious riot:
For had you sprung from all the graces,
I'd spurn such impudent embraces.”
—The 'Squire, who had lain conceal'd,
Whisper'd aloud, “You now must yield,
Be off, be off, you've lost the field.”
‘The song's a sermon I avow;— Love I have felt, I feel it now,
And still I'm of that feeling proud!”
—Here 'Squire Hearty laugh'd aloud,
And, in endeav'ring to escape Or get away in any shape,
He by chance fell, then bang'd the door,
And kick'd the screen down on the floor.
The Doctor on the downfall gaz'd, Staring, astonish'd and amaz'd:
While Madam, sinking with alarms,
Fell screaming in his outstretch'd arms,
And while those arms did thus enfold her,
She struggled so he scarce could hold her.
To keep her still, he was not able,
She kick'd him and o'erturn'd the table.
The bottles, plates and glasses clatter;
And now to see what was the matter
The servants enter'd, to whose care, Syntax resign'd the furious fair,
Who with fierce eyes the Doctor view'd;
Said he was ugly, brutal, rude;
And loudly ask'd him how he dare Take such bold liberties with her!
Then added, “Such a shape as thine
Must doubtless be inflam'd with wine,
Thus to disturb my virtue's quiet, With your love's wild licentious riot:
For had you sprung from all the graces,
I'd spurn such impudent embraces.”
—The 'Squire, who had lain conceal'd,
Whisper'd aloud, “You now must yield,
Be off, be off, you've lost the field.”
Syntax, who had no wish to stay, Made haste the summons to obey;
And, in a very ruffled state, Sought, with the 'Squire, the mansion gate.
In vulgar terms, he'd had his licking,
Not with Ma'am's cuffs, but by her kicking.
—The eyes of beauty furnish arms
Which have fill'd heroes with alarms:
Nay, that the brave dare not resist The vengeance of a female fist,
And when an angry dame assails With darting fingers and their nails,
The rude intruder oft has stood,
With cheeks all scratch'd and red with blood;
All this is known amidst the strife Attendant on domestic life.
But in the journal of those jars That wait on love's intestine wars,
It seldom has been thought discreet For fair-ones to employ their feet,
And our fair Dame's the first we know
Who thus employ'd a vengeful toe.
—By what offensive skill in trade Her slippers or her shoes were made,
To cause the woundings that befell The Doctor's shins we cannot tell;
It must be left to keener eye To make this grand discovery,
Whether sharp point or well arm'd heel
Made his slim shanks or ancles feel;
And, which is absolutely shocking, Gave a dire rent to either stocking.
Suffice it, with the 'Squire he went, All speechless from astonishment,
With batter'd legs and stockings rent.
—As they retir'd we must relate That Patrick shar'd his master's fate.
The Doctor, with fond hopes grown warm,
To give the visit all due form,
And that appearance might befriend him,
He order'd Patrick to attend him.
The obedient valet now was seen Walking behind with smiling mien;
But in due time he stepp'd before,
And, having gained the widow's door,
His rap was such, would not disgrace
St. James's-Square or Portland-Place.
—The Lady who had kept her eye Quicken'd by curiosity,
The curtain's drapery between Where she might see, herself unseen,
Where she might view with anxious glance,
Th'expected visitor advance,
In long perspective, tow'rds her gate:
Nor long she sat in peeping state,
When as she saw the party coming
And heard the door's re-echoed drumming,
She instant summon'd to her aid, Lucy, her confidential maid,
And thus her secret wish betray'd:
“Invite the valet down below And ev'ry kind attention show;
With all he seems to wish for treat him,
And with a smiling welcome greet him;
Nay ev'ry cunning art apply, To get his master's history.
What is his age,—try all your power, To learn that to the very hour;—
His temper, and his mode of life, And how he us'd his former wife.
Now manage this commission well, Get all out of him he can tell,—
And then, good Lucy, you shall see, How very grateful I can be.”
The handmaid promis'd to obey, And nodding slyly, slid away.
Now Lucy had a blooming cheek,
And jet black locks adorn'd her neck;
Nor had she been five years on duty, To aid the toilette of a beauty,
Without attaining, in her way, The arts by which she could display
Such charms as render'd her bewitching
To liv'ried gentry in the kitchen.
She ask'd, if he again would dine, Which he preferr'd, or ale or wine.
To such kind offers nothing loth He chose to take a sup of both:
Then on the board sweet cakes were plac'd,
And all he ask'd the table grac'd.
Things thus arrang'd, it was not long
Ere Lucy prov'd she had a tongue, Which like an aspen-leaf was hung:
But neither wine nor her gay funning,
Robb'd honest Patrick of his cunning,
And the first question she let out, Told him what Lucy was about.
Thus Pat, who lov'd his master well,
Was quite prepar'd what tale to tell.
—Says she, in her familiar chat, “Pray is the Doctor's living fat?”
Pat.
185
In vulgar terms, he'd had his licking,
Not with Ma'am's cuffs, but by her kicking.
—The eyes of beauty furnish arms
Which have fill'd heroes with alarms:
Nay, that the brave dare not resist The vengeance of a female fist,
And when an angry dame assails With darting fingers and their nails,
The rude intruder oft has stood,
With cheeks all scratch'd and red with blood;
All this is known amidst the strife Attendant on domestic life.
But in the journal of those jars That wait on love's intestine wars,
It seldom has been thought discreet For fair-ones to employ their feet,
And our fair Dame's the first we know
Who thus employ'd a vengeful toe.
—By what offensive skill in trade Her slippers or her shoes were made,
To cause the woundings that befell The Doctor's shins we cannot tell;
It must be left to keener eye To make this grand discovery,
Whether sharp point or well arm'd heel
Made his slim shanks or ancles feel;
And, which is absolutely shocking, Gave a dire rent to either stocking.
Suffice it, with the 'Squire he went, All speechless from astonishment,
With batter'd legs and stockings rent.
—As they retir'd we must relate That Patrick shar'd his master's fate.
The Doctor, with fond hopes grown warm,
To give the visit all due form,
And that appearance might befriend him,
He order'd Patrick to attend him.
The obedient valet now was seen Walking behind with smiling mien;
But in due time he stepp'd before,
And, having gained the widow's door,
His rap was such, would not disgrace
St. James's-Square or Portland-Place.
—The Lady who had kept her eye Quicken'd by curiosity,
The curtain's drapery between Where she might see, herself unseen,
Where she might view with anxious glance,
Th'expected visitor advance,
In long perspective, tow'rds her gate:
Nor long she sat in peeping state,
When as she saw the party coming
And heard the door's re-echoed drumming,
She instant summon'd to her aid, Lucy, her confidential maid,
And thus her secret wish betray'd:
“Invite the valet down below And ev'ry kind attention show;
With all he seems to wish for treat him,
And with a smiling welcome greet him;
Nay ev'ry cunning art apply, To get his master's history.
What is his age,—try all your power, To learn that to the very hour;—
His temper, and his mode of life, And how he us'd his former wife.
Now manage this commission well, Get all out of him he can tell,—
And then, good Lucy, you shall see, How very grateful I can be.”
The handmaid promis'd to obey, And nodding slyly, slid away.
186
And jet black locks adorn'd her neck;
Nor had she been five years on duty, To aid the toilette of a beauty,
Without attaining, in her way, The arts by which she could display
Such charms as render'd her bewitching
To liv'ried gentry in the kitchen.
She ask'd, if he again would dine, Which he preferr'd, or ale or wine.
To such kind offers nothing loth He chose to take a sup of both:
Then on the board sweet cakes were plac'd,
And all he ask'd the table grac'd.
Things thus arrang'd, it was not long
Ere Lucy prov'd she had a tongue, Which like an aspen-leaf was hung:
But neither wine nor her gay funning,
Robb'd honest Patrick of his cunning,
And the first question she let out, Told him what Lucy was about.
Thus Pat, who lov'd his master well,
Was quite prepar'd what tale to tell.
—Says she, in her familiar chat, “Pray is the Doctor's living fat?”
“Aye faith, it is, my dearest dear,
And weighs a thousand pounds a year.”
Lucy.
“Have you in many places been?”
P.
“In service, I suppose you mean:
Only two masters I have serv'd, And from my duty never swerv'd.
I serv'd the King, may Heaven bless him,
As, when he dies, it will possess him.
At his command, a gallant rover,
I've travell'd half this wide world over:
I've drawn my sword, and aye, by dozens,
Have cut down Frenchmen and their cousins.
For many a blessed hour I've trod The field, my ancles deep in blood.
O these were sights enough to make A heart like pretty Lucy's ache!”
L.
“And did you e'er receive a wound?”
P.
“Aye faith, I've lain upon the ground
For half a day, when death and life
Were quarrelling like man and wife,
Which should possess itself of Pat; But, in Heav'n's mercy, for all that
I'm here quite well, and stout to view, And ready to make love to you.
I'm nought but scars as you would know,
If I could dare my form to show,—
'Tis hack'd and hew'd from top to toe.”
L.
“Dear Mr. Pat, you melt my heart;
What cut and slash'd in ev'ry part?”
P.
“The trunk, 'tis true, has suffer'd sore,
Nor could it, Beauty, suffer more;
But for the branches of the tree, They're all just as they ought to be:
But for my wounds I have a plaister,
In a most kind and gen'rous master.”
L.
“What children has the Doctor pray?
And may I ask what age are they?”
P.
“Children indeed, why he had five;
But none of them are now alive:
187
Three months ago in childbed died.
Her death made many a bosom ake Upon the banks of Keswick Lake.
She thought not, as fine ladies do, Of dresses smart, all pink and blue,
Who think to catch the wand'ring eye Of any fool that's passing bye.
Where'er she mov'd, so nice, so fair, All view'd the well-bred lady there:
But more who did my mistress see Saw the mild form of Charity.
—As for my master, he can shew
More learning than e'en Bishops know.
What knowledge lies beneath his hat
And the fine wig that's comb'd by Pat!
No, your great Church does not contain
The treasure lock'd within his brain.”
L.
“But what of that, it will not do,
If here your master comes to woo:
Learning, I'm sure, will never thrive In widows' hearts of thirty-five.”
P.
“Pooh, nonsense, this is all your sporting;
My master comes not here a courting;
O Heaven forbid, says honest Pat,
That he should play a prank like that!
For worse or better should he take
Your mistress, many a heart would break
Of dame or damsel round our lake.
Besides there is a widow, Dear,
With full twelve-hundred pounds a year:
And what I tell you, faith, is true, For to speak lies I could not do
To such a pretty girl as you—
Should he not lead her to the altar,
She'd cure her love-fit with a halter.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |