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 |  |
Madam now gave her needful aid, The opodeldoc was display'd,
And busy in her healing scheme The Doctor's feet receiv'd the stream
Of oily fluids, to allay The tumours rising from the fray.
This she perform'd with tender grace,
When Pat appear'd with batter'd face,
And, as she did the poultice spread, Half-tipsy he thus stamm'ring said,
“—How with my master it turn'd out Upstairs, in all that noisy rout;
I cannot now pretend to know. But faith I suffer'd much below;
Where half a score of Abigails Attack'd me with their mops and pails.
Oh, how these furies did ill-treat me And almost to a jelly beat me!
Do but, your Honour, see my head!”
“Be off, good Pat,” the 'Squire said,
“To Anne or Susan now apply, On their kind aid you may rely,
With brandy bathe your forehead's bruise, A medicine of sovereign use,
That never fails to aid the cure Of such a hurt as you endure.”
Says Pat, “my humble thanks to you,
But that same liquid will not do:
Though you are pleas'd its use to teach, It never will my forehead reach,
For sure as North lies straight to South,
Brandy will never pass my mouth.
Whene'er it comes, with gin or whisky,
So near my lips it makes them frisky:
And then my mouth so round and hollow,
O what an itch it has to swallow!”
“Howe'er that be,” 'Squire Hearty said,
“Go and repair your shatter'd head,
Then take your meal, and off to bed.”
And busy in her healing scheme The Doctor's feet receiv'd the stream
Of oily fluids, to allay The tumours rising from the fray.
This she perform'd with tender grace,
When Pat appear'd with batter'd face,
And, as she did the poultice spread, Half-tipsy he thus stamm'ring said,
“—How with my master it turn'd out Upstairs, in all that noisy rout;
I cannot now pretend to know. But faith I suffer'd much below;
Where half a score of Abigails Attack'd me with their mops and pails.
Oh, how these furies did ill-treat me And almost to a jelly beat me!
Do but, your Honour, see my head!”
“Be off, good Pat,” the 'Squire said,
“To Anne or Susan now apply, On their kind aid you may rely,
With brandy bathe your forehead's bruise, A medicine of sovereign use,
That never fails to aid the cure Of such a hurt as you endure.”
Says Pat, “my humble thanks to you,
But that same liquid will not do:
Though you are pleas'd its use to teach, It never will my forehead reach,
For sure as North lies straight to South,
Brandy will never pass my mouth.
Whene'er it comes, with gin or whisky,
So near my lips it makes them frisky:
And then my mouth so round and hollow,
O what an itch it has to swallow!”
“Howe'er that be,” 'Squire Hearty said,
“Go and repair your shatter'd head,
Then take your meal, and off to bed.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |