University of Virginia Library

CANTO VI.

Of transient evils we endure Sleep is a kind and frequent cure;
And the vexations over night Will sometimes fly at morning's light.
We know it will not always ease The pangs that wait upon disease:
The fever's watchful burning heat, When the impetuous pulses beat,
May ask the wish'd-for boon in vain, The eyes to close and banish pain:
But still the gout, the racking stone, Its calming influence grateful own,
When, aided by the opiate power, They steal but one appeasing hour.
—The mind is not indebted less For short cessations of distress,
When it puts off the evening sorrow, Until the wakeful hour to-morrow,
While fancy on its powers may call T'amuse th'oblivious interval.
Syntax, 'tis true, there's no concealing,
Had in his mind a certain feeling,
When moral sense and cleric pride Would wounded be and mortified.
Besides, if that known, chattering dame, Who flies about, entitled Fame,
Should his late evening's hist'ry take
T'amuse his friends around the Lake,
To him or them in any measure,
It would not prove a source of pleasure.
But whatsoever harm was done, He felt 'twas to himself alone;
And what his folly did impart Arose but from a warmth of heart.
Reason had bent to the controul Of what was the mere flow of soul;
While conscience set the matter even, And thus he felt himself forgiven.
—His pipe he smok'd, the wine was good
Becalm'd his thoughts, by sleep subdued
Without a hint from aching head, At early hour he sought his bed.
What dreams by fancy were begot Or did he dream, or did he not,
The Muse would think it vain to pry, Into the fruitless mystery:
But when his eyes op'd on the morrow
Kind sleep had eas'd him of his sorrow,
And the vexation over-night Had left him at the morning's light.
Charm'd with the beauty of the day,
And the surrounding scene so gay,
Where nature in her loveliest hue Display'd the animating view
Of woods above, of meads below,
Where 'mid the green the flow'rets blow, And crystal waters softly flow;
While active rural life combin'd To fit the landscape for the mind,
As it invites reflection's eye To the earth's rich variety.—
With such a scene to gaze upon Th'enraptur'd Doctor travell'd on.
—Within the winding of a vale, 'Mid blended charm of hill and dale,
And shaded by a spreading grove
Where Dryads might be feign'd to rove,
A stately, ancient mansion rose, Which titled ancestors had chose
In former times to be the seat Where rural grandeur found retreat,
And now might seem to trav'ller's eye Beaming with hospitality.
—'Twas here that Syntax chanc'd to see
A woman spinning 'neath a tree,
Whose boughs o'er-spread a straw-roof'd cot,
Which was some lab'ring peasant's lot.
“Tell me,” he said, “my honest dame,
The state, the character and name,
Of him or her who, by Heav'n's grace,
Doth own that noble, charming place.”
“'Tis Lady Bounty,” she replied, “Who does in that fine house reside:
All that you see, Sir, is her own, But she has long been better known
For the good deeds which do resound
From grateful tongues the country round:
To bless us all it doth appear That Heaven has plac'd this lady here.
It seems to be her only joy Her time, her fortune, to employ
In doing what is real good. —My tears express my gratitude;
For in that cot my husband lies
With useless limbs, and sightless eyes:
Whom the swift lightning's piercing flame
Has render'd senseless, blind and lame,
But all the comfort he can know, Her care, her kindness do bestow:
Nor does she loll at home at ease; She watches o'er her charities:
E'en here she comes, as sent by Heaven,
To see that what she gives is given.
—Nay, while the poor she doth supply, A splendid hospitality
The rich who visit her receive,
With the proud welcome she can give.”
Syntax, with all this story charm'd,
And his benignant bosom warm'd,
Resolv'd to view these proud domains
Where so much native beauty reigns,
And ply his skill to sketch the scenes Where so much virtue intervenes.
—Near an alcove he took his seat In view of this superb retreat:
Then, in his sketch-book 'gan to trace
The leading features of the place:
And with a practis'd eye, combine The picturesque of his design.
—A gard'ner soon to Patrick came
To know his master's rank and name,
When Pat ran all his virtues o'er,
Told what he was—and somewhat more.
The pencil now employ'd its power;
Nor had the Doctor pass'd an hour
In tracing, with his utmost care, A scene at once, so grand, so fair,
When Lady Bounty came to know What for his ease she could bestow,
And with an hospitable grace, The well-known feature of the place,
To dine he kindly was invited, Nor was the smiling goodness slighted;
Then with this welcome she address'd
Her rev'rend and delighted guest:
“—Since Doctor Syntax here is come, He must believe himself at home,
And all that can his wishes crown He will consider as his own:
For while he sojourns he will be The object of all courtesy;
And to a yet far distant day 'Tis hop'd he will prolong his stay.”
The dinner o'er the blessing given
For ev'ry bounteous grace of Heaven,
The Doctor who would never balk A certain love he had to talk,
And which we know is least withstood
When wine is plenty and is good,
Had in a strain of modest glee Told all his curious history.
Not that the Muse did mean to hint He here would go beyond the stint
Of learned sages' due decorum,
When the full bottles smile before 'em.
—The interesting story done, Which had a fond attention won,
The mansion's mistress silence broke And thus in pleasing accents spoke.
Lady Bounty.—
“It doth indeed my spirits cheer,
To see the Rev'rend Doctor here,
Whose many virtues and whose taste, Appear by none to be surpass'd;
Nay, that same chance I happy call
Which turn'd his face tow'rds Bounty Hall:
And while his conversation gives
That pleasure which with knowledge lives,
I trust he will employ a day His graphic talents to display
On the rich charming scenes which bound
My range of ornamental ground:
And that by his superior taste My antique sculptures may be plac'd,
(Too long the victims of neglect) In proper sight with due effect:
It is a favour I shall ask That he would undertake the task;
Nay, such assistance to impart Is a free boon he owes to Art,
Which, for these trophies' sake, demands
The labour of his head and hands.”

The Doctor, highly flatter'd, bow'd, And marks of due obedience shew'd,
Then promis'd with to-morrow's sun The curious work should be begun,
Nor would he go till it were done.
The morning came, with utmost care The Rev'rend Artist did prepare
With all his pencil's skill to trace The beauties of this favour'd place;
When Lady Bounty, to beguile His labours with approving smile,
Stood on the terrace-wall to view The Doctor's progress as he drew:
When, at once furious and alarm'd,
And with most uncooth weapons arm'd,
Led on by Pat, a noisy crew Did a wild swarm of bees pursue,
And, with a loud and tinkling sound Of rustic cymbals chasing round
The flying rovers, eager strive To tempt them to the offer'd hive:
But all these sounds were made in vain;
They did their humming flight maintain,
And, spite of pan and pot and kettle,
Chose on the Doctor's head to settle.
—It must be thought indeed most strange,
That this wing'd populace, who range
In search of sweets, should hope to swig The liquid nectar in a wig;
And there though learning might be crown'd,
That food ambrosial would be found:
But still it seems the Royal Bee Would thither lead her colony.
—The Doctor felt no small alarm
As he beheld the approaching swarm;
And when their buzzing threats surround him,
The fears of such a foe confound him,
Who with a thousand stings might wound him.
The screaming Lady did entreat That he would not forsake his seat,
But by all means avoid a riot, And let them take their course in quiet;
As then, she from experience knew, No harm, no evil would ensue.
The Doctor said, “while I have breath,
I'll run and not be stung to death.”
Then off his hat and wig he threw, And up the terrace steps he flew;
While Patrick with impetuous tread,
Flung the hive towards his Master's head,
To save his bald pate from the chace Of this same flying stinging race.
Away they hurried down the slope,
Which was so steep they could not stop;
Syntax went first and Patrick after,
And both plung'd headlong in the water,
Which, in a sweeping, close meander,
Beneath the terrace chose to wander:
Though no harm did this fall bestow, But being wet from top to toe:
And that was small, when ev'ry care Of the kind Lady would prepare
What the good Doctor's state required: All he could ask for or desir'd,
Was ready to obey his call; And ev'ry soul in Bounty-Hall
Did the officious service ply, So that he soon was warm and dry,
Talk'd o'er in terms of frolic ease His curious battle with the bees,
And made his tumble in the water A source of fun and gen'ral laughter.
His hat and wig the honeyed race Had not found a fit resting place,
Or as retir'd and snug retreats
Where they might lodge ambrosial sweets;
So that unspoil'd they did remain When to their owner brought again.
—His troubled toil he soon renew'd, And with such eager zeal pursued
Th'allotted task—that ere the sun
Had gone its round, his work was done.
—Syntax had made the chaste design
With equal space and measur'd line,
Which would each pleasing form admit Where'er the spot best suited it.
The statues now in order plac'd The niches on the terrace grac'd,
And sculptur'd vases were display'd To range along the balustrade:
While the sad willow's pendent bough Hangs o'er the solemn urn below,
And the sarcophagus is seen Amid the cypress' darksome green.
But it appears, this was not all That Syntax did at Bounty-Hall:
His pencil promis'd to impart The utmost power of its art,
That Madam's Boudoir might abound
With drawings of the scenes around.
The Lady in no common measure,
To him thus spoke her grateful pleasure:
Lady Bounty.—
“How to express my just regard
And how to shape a due reward,
For all the service you have shown,
For what you're doing and have done,
I cannot to my mind declare, Though that shall be my future care:
But still there is another call Upon your heart at Bounty-Hall,
For much I wish that you would trace The features of my homely face;
It would please me and others too To have my portrait done by you;
And you, my Rev'rend Sir, shall know
The reasons why my wishes flow That you this favour should bestow.
Expanded on the stuccoed wall Of my old mansion's stately hall,
You see my form at large appear When in my three-and-twentieth year,
And deck'd in all the proud array Which gaudy fashion could display;
But then, I trust, my conduct prov'd That I was worthy to be lov'd
By virtue's image, who was then My husband and the best of men.
To wealth and station full allied, My ev'ry wish was gratified,
And I my splendid course pursued, A star of no small magnitude,
And one bright track I did maintain, With love and honour in my train.
Thus fifteen years of life I pass'd In happiness too great to last,
When death at length appear'd, and then I lost, alas! that best of men.
He left no heirs to stamp his name With perpetuity of fame,
But it appears as Heav'n's decree That duty should devolve on me,
And, from the moment when he died,
Here have I liv'd and have applied
My wealth and time and thoughts alone
In doing what he would have done,
And, as he on his death-bed lay, His last instructions to obey.
But though some form my state requires,
Some outward show, yet my desires,
Heav'n knows, impel me to prefer The form of his just almoner.
Then to the canvas pray impart, With touch of unassuming art,
Not Lady Bounty of the world, With all her glitt'ring robes unfurl'd:
But as my present form you see In dignified simplicity,
Such, as if here a year you stay, You'll see her, Doctor, every day.”

Syntax.—
“Madam, you know, you may command
The work of my inferior hand,
But my poor pencil is confin'd To labours of an humble kind:
Nor have I ventur'd on the toil That dares consume the painter's oil.
But if you please to send to town And order proper colours down,
With canvas, pallet, and the rest Which I may want—I'll do my best.”

Lady Bounty.—
“It shall be done, without delay;—
But some short time must pass away,
Ere your most friendly pencil traces
My grateful looks and fading graces.
And I have still a boon to ask, To you, I trust, a pleasing task;
You, whose peculiar virtue knows To act the part which I impose:
You, who can well discharge your duty
To female youth and female beauty,
By fixing in the early mind Those principles by truth design'd
To guard them from the heart's deceit, Which to our sex is more replete
With dangers than it is to man, As your experience well can scan.
—You must know then: our schemes to vary
That I protect a seminary
For female youth, at no great distance,
To which I ask your kind assistance,
Its style and manners to review, And there to pass a day or two,
Till the arts' implements recall Your presence back to Bounty-Hall.”

The Doctor with his task content, Gave a most ready, grave consent;
And, under Lady Bounty's care, He, the next morn, was usher'd there.
From eight at least to fourteen years,
The troop of female youth appears:
With heartfelt pleasure Syntax view'd The interesting sisterhood;
Some were the rosebuds of the day,
Some did their op'ning leaves display;
But all did the fair promise give, That they were fitted to receive
The counsels which the sage inclin'd To pour into their early mind.
The evening came, the scene was gay, All clad in summer's best array,
When the fair youthful band were seen
Arrang'd upon the shaven green.
—Beneath an oak's wide-spreading shade,
While through its boughs the zephyr play'd,
The sage, with reverential pride, Plac'd the preceptress by his side.
He threw a genial smile around Upon the animated ground;
Then upward look'd, as if was given, A silent orison to Heaven;
And soon a mute attention hung Upon the wisdom of his tongue.
Syntax.—

The Doctor rose, the blessing given
With waving hand and looks to Heaven,
He calmly left the leafy bower, And sought the contemplative hour:
The evening pass'd and much he thought
Of the young train whom he had taught;
Then went to rest, but, ere he slept,
Review'd th'affecting scene, and wept.
What active cause his slumbers broke Or why at early hour he woke
It would be needless to enquire; But ere the neighb'ring parish spire
Receiv'd the sun's first golden ray
And told the bright approach of day,
Syntax had left his downy rest; When, all bewigg'd and fully drest,
He to the window turn'd his eye, And view'd with sudden extasy
A scene of nature that combin'd Whate'er could fill the painter's mind.
—Through a deep verdant vale below, A crystal stream was seen to flow,
While swelling hills with forests crown'd,
Did all the nearer prospect bound,
And mountains clad in airy blue Clos'd with their tops the distant view:
Nor did there want the mantled tower,
Or pointed spire or village bower;
Besides the morning's moisture threw O'er woody dells a misty hue,
That form'd a dusky base below, To heighten the ascending glow,
Which the horizon's golden ray Did on the summit's peak display.
Struck with the beauty of the view, He brush'd away the morning dew,
To make a hasty sketch or two.
Pat follow'd quick, when, having seen His master seated on the green,
And with attentive care employ'd, On the gay work he so enjoy'd,
He rov'd about, now here, now there,
He scarce knew why, he scarce knew where:
When, as beside a hedge he stray'd,
From the sweet voice of village maid,
He heard a simple strain prolong
From tender heart this piteous song:
Pat listen'd and soon made reply In his own native minstrelsy.
He clos'd his strain and through the screen
Form'd of wild flowers and branches green,
A lass slow pacing on was seen.
A russet gown the maiden wore, And on her arm a basket bore;
The rosy blush was on her cheek,
And dark brown locks hung o'er her neck,
While eyes of blue seem'd to impart The symptoms of a melting heart.
—Pat took a peep and quite delighted,
Thought that the time should not be slighted,
And that the means he might improve To try and make a little love.
—Though, thought he, I'm not so clever
To leap across a flowing river,
I think at least I have the sense To get me o'er a quickset fence:
No sooner said than done: the rover Took a long run and soon was over:
The damsel started at the sight, But soon recover'd from the fright;
When he with smile and gentle talk, Begg'd to attend her on her walk,
To bear her eggs and while the thrush
Sung sweetly from the neighb'ring bush,
In pleasing courtesy confer, And mention all he thought of her.—
—Susan, poor girl, at first was coy, But there's a certain am'rous boy,
Who cares not how he wastes his darts,
Nor whether high or vulgar hearts
Receive their points, so he can play And thus amuse his time away.—
Thus ere Pat's tongue for half an hour
Had exercis'd its flatt'ring power,
She had withdrawn her look severe, And seem'd to give a list'ning ear.
While this love-talk was going on, Syntax his morning task had done,
And was returning stout and able, To prey upon the breakfast table.
Thus, passing on, he chanc'd to see, Beneath an overshadowing tree,
Patrick engag'd in am'rous guise Devouring Susan with his eyes;
While she, with half averted look, The kind discrimination took.
—The Doctor, sitting on a stile, Resolv'd that he would stop awhile,
And please his fancy with the view Of how the curious courtship grew.
—Sometimes their jogging elbows spoke Half in earnest, half in joke;
Then their join'd hands appear'd in view,
And then the nymph her hand withdrew,
Tapping the lover on the shoulder;
At which he bolder grew and bolder;
When his arm gently clasp'd her waist,
Nor did she think the grasp misplac'd;
For, though she made attempt to shove it,
The feeble act did not remove it.
—And now the smiling Doctor thought
'Twas time to set it all at nought,
To interfere in the debate, And spoil, at once, the tête à tête.
He then appear'd, poor Pat was hush'd,
The nymph at first look'd down and blush'd,
Then tript away on all her legs, To better market with her eggs.
Syntax.—
“What fancy has your folly led
To stuff with trash that poor girl's head:
To trump up a long list of lies About her ears, her nose and eyes,
That though you've been all Europe o'er,
You ne'er saw such a wench before:
And while your nonsense you were plying,
You knew, you fool, that you were lying.”

Patrick.—
“An't please your Rev'rence, 'twas but sporting
What a man says when he's a-courting.
Believe me, Sir, no ill was meant, And all was done with kind intent.
I met the maid, and could not balk My fancy for a little talk:
She seem'd well pleas'd—I did my best;
'Twas only making love in jest:
'Tis what I've heard that great folks do,
Whenever they are pleas'd to woo.
When I serv'd Col'nel Debonnair, I've heard him to a lady swear,
Though brown as chestnut, she was fair.
And faith, Sir, I have heard him tell A shrieking miss she sang so well,
That her sweet accents did inspire A notion of the Heav'nly quire.
I've heard him too, and not in fun, Tell a fat widow, like a tun,
That she was as a Venus made, A pattern for the Sculptor's trade;
He meant it true,—for she believ'd it,
And, with a thousand thanks receiv'd it.
But all these fancies are forgiv'n;
If e'er man went, he's gone to Heaven:
He was the best of men, all said Who knew him, whether live or dead;
For on one hard and well-fought day,
He on the cold stone lifeless lay.”

Syntax.—
“This is not the time or season
For me on serious points to reason:
But he who says what is not true, Whether he be a fool like you,
Or has th'acknowledg'd reputation Of being wisest in the nation,
Will have commited an offence
'Gainst virtue, reason, common-sense;—
For on the heart a Lie's a blot, Whether in palace or in cot.”

Here this unsought-for converse ended,
The ladies on the sage attended,
And at the sound of breakfast bell, Took 'special care to feed him well:
Nor did they want an equal zeal At ev'ry stated, plenteous meal:
While to the charming female college,
He well return'd the food of knowledge.
—On the next day a friendly call Re-summon'd him to Bounty Hall.
The messenger arriv'd from town, Had brought the apparatus down,
By which the Doctor was to ply His fav'rite art with novelty;
To see what his unpractis'd toil Could do with canvas and with oil.
The pallet set, with colours grac'd, The easel in due posture plac'd,
The curtain'd window's softened glare,
Of fav'ring light th'admitted share,
The Lady seated and full-drest,
Call'd up those looks she thought the best,—
When Syntax, with uplifted eye, And somewhat of a doubting sigh,
Whisper'd a soft soliloquy;
Or, with hesitation fraught, Rather indulg'd a doubtful thought.
How oft my pencil has prepar'd To trace the guests of farmer's yard,
How often has it brought to view With nice design and likeness true,
The horse, the ass, the goat, the cow, All shelter'd by a barley-mow:
While here I'm puzzled at the feature Of a human Christian creature:
But patience calls me to the test, And I must strive to do my best.”
He wav'd his pencil, form'd the line
That shapes the human face divine,
Gave all the features their due places,
And hop'd to finish with the graces.
Puffing and painting on he went,
Sometimes displeas'd, sometimes content,
Until it was too plainly seen, One eye was blue, the other green;
Whereas, on a correct survey, Her Ladyship's bright eyes were grey.
The Lady when she took a view Declar'd the gen'ral likeness true,
But still she thought it might be stronger;
He took the hint, and made it younger.
By daubing out and laying in The tints alternate thick and thin,
He kept within a mod'rate line: But made the drap'ry wond'rous fine.
—She thought 'twould have a pretty look
If in her hand she held a book,
Which, with a demi-serious mood, Might much improve her attitude:
But it so happ'd, he cast an eye Upon a cake and currant-pye,
Which an adjoining table grac'd With other articles of taste;
And thus the Doctor, while proceeding,
Thought more of eating than of reading:
For here attention felt a break, Out went the book—What a mistake!
And in her hand he plac'd the cake.
—The laugh was loud, they sought the board,
The cake was eat, the book restor'd,
The pencil mov'd, the flounces twirl
And round the robe impetuous curl.
—Syntax now thought, I've done my best;
At least, my Lady is well drest,
And, as my art can go no further, I hope, without committing murther,
I have at length just made an end Of my kind, hospitable friend.
—The work, 'tis true, had no pretence To that superior excellence
Which some could to the canvas give,
Whereon the figures seem to live;
And though this picture cannot vie With aught 'bove mediocrity,
Yet those to whom my Lady's known Did all the gen'ral likeness own;
And she herself, above the rest,
Her warm and grateful praise express'd.
—When 'twas presented to the eye, In a room hung with tapestry,
Of ancient work, with figures grim
Of monstrous shape and threat'ning limb;
Whose colours, the whole room pervading,
Had for a century been fading;
The contrast gave a glowing grace, Both to the air, the form, the face,
To which the Rev'rend Limner's art Did those apparent powers impart,
That, to his eye, he scarce could tell The wonder it was done so well.
But ere he quitted Bounty-Hall Syntax receiv'd a serious call,
With strong expressions, to attend The wish of Doctor Dicky Bend:
And much he did anticipate The comforts which would on him wait
In the recesses of a college, Scenes of good living and of knowledge,
Which to the mind and body give The solid means for both to live.
The Doctor thought to steal away, As he was wont, by break of day;
But Lady Bounty's rank and station
Had check'd the vulgar inclination,
And he determin'd to regret, With all due form and etiquette,
In looks that mourn and words that grieve,
That he was forc'd to take his leave.
—The morning came, the breakfast o'er,
Phillis and Punch were at the door:
When Syntax, in respectful tone, Made all his grateful wishes known,
While ev'ry hope words could express
For health, long life and happiness,
Follow'd in due and stated course, With solemn, modulated force.
Then her right hand he gently drew,
Kiss'd it, and bow'd, and said “Adieu.”
—Affected by this tender grace A tear stole gently down her face;
And wiping her be-moisten'd eye, She offer'd this sincere reply:
“—Doctor, your virtues I revere,
And wish your stay were longer here:
Doctor, your learning I admire, And much I grieve that you retire:
Your piety involves my heart, And I lament that you depart.
But still I thank the happy chance,
That did your wand'ring steps advance
To where I pass my tranquil days In striving humble worth to raise,
And in the circuit of my power,
To cheer the poor man's toilsome hour;
In youthful minds the seed to sow Of virtue, and where thistles grow
To pluck them, that they may not spoil
The fruits produc'd by honest toil;
Nay, I am proud, that my great view
Has been approv'd and prais'd by you.
And while I wish you ev'ry good, I thus my kind farewell conclude:
—Here whensoe'er you wish to come This house will prove a real home:
Come when you will, bring whom you may,
And, as you please, prolong your stay:
You'll have the welcome of my heart; Nor go, till I pronounce depart.”
—She now presented to his hand A cover rich with velvet band,
Where taste must have been proud to ply Its needle in embroidery.
A clasp, enrich'd with gold, confin'd The memoranda of the mind,
Which on the inmost page so white, The ready pencil might indite.
“Take this,” she said, “and when your thought
Is with a sudden image fraught,
—Inscribe it here and let it live, Nor be a hasty fugitive:
It thence may gain a passage free To dwell within your memory:
And at those moments do not spare,
For your warm friend a transient prayer.”
The Doctor here made no reply, But a warm tear in either eye,
And quietly pursued his way In thoughtful mood from day to day,
'Till he attain'd his journey's end And shook the hand of Dicky Bend.
It was not long ere they were seated, And had each other kindly greeted;
Talk'd o'er the college news, and told
Who lately died and who grew old,
Or look'd for tardy time to pay The hopes of the impatient day;
What the preferment in their giving,
And who had got the last good living.
They then both div'd in classic lore, And did the various toil explore
Of learning and of learned elves: At length they talk'd about themselves.
When, looking downwards, Dicky Bend
Call'd on the Doctor to attend.
D--- Bend.—
“My invitation gave a hint
As if that something more was in't,
Than a mere gen'ral kind request To come and eat and drink the best
Which my known hospitable board Does to a valued friend afford.
In short 'tis some time since I found How dull the solitary round
Of a continued single life; I therefore look'd out for a wife;
And soon the widow of a friend Did by her qualities commend
A fitness for the married state, And suited just to such a mate,
As I, at length, am like to prove, Now past the warmer age of love.
Indeed I'm told the gen'ral voice Of all my friends approves my choice.
We are not strangers to each other:
I knew her husband and her mother:
Known a good wife to Johnny Free, Why then, I ask you, may not she
Be just as good a wife to me?
Beauty indeed she does not boast; She never was the college toast:
But manners sweet, with winning smile,
That do the feeling heart beguile,
All these she surely doth possess, And more than I can well express;
Nay somewhat of a sleepy eye— But you will see her bye and bye.”

Syntax.—
“Let now I pray the subject cease,
It wakes those thoughts which wound my peace:
No more of wives before we dine, You know that I'm depriv'd of mine;
So leave that topic to the wine.”

The dinner o'er, the Lady came,
Who look'd so soon to change her name,
And did with grateful care attend To say kind things to Dicky's friend,
By whom the office would be done To make her and her Dicky one.
—'Twas with discretion well arrang'd,
That his old state should not be chang'd
With the well, long-known Mrs. Free, Within the University;
For should it hap to reach the knowledge
Of the young gownsmen in the college,
The gen'ral quiz, the frolic tale,
Would through his cloister'd haunts prevail:
The grey-beard Cupid's wings would sprawl
On many a disfigur'd wall,
And Hymen's well-known saffron shirt
Would be well sprinkled o'er with port.
The Provost had a Rect'ry neat Which serv'd him as a country seat,
Snugly retir'd from public noise, And fit for hymeneal joys.
The coppice did his meadows bound,
The purling riv'let flow'd around,
And fruits and fragrant flow'rs were seen
To deck the smooth-fac'd bowling-green.
Full many a leaf of various hue Did its neat snow-white front bestrew,
While o'er the porch the branches twine
Of the sweet smelling jessamine.
—What did it want t'increase the measure
Of calm repose and rural pleasure,
But to advance domestic life; That Dicky Bend should get a wife?
And such he was about to prove, The gift of reason and of love.
For this he left his stately college,
And the more deep research of knowledge,
To pass his annual vacation In ease and rural recreation.
From his o'er-ruling cares releas'd, Here he became a Parish Priest;
And Syntax here perform'd the rite Which did his worthy friend unite,
In the indissoluble tie, Which hallow'd Altars sanctify.
The merry peal awoke the day,
And flow'rets strew'd the church-yard way,
And all the village folk were gay.
—The benediction then was given,
With prayers of all the poor to Heaven,
For it was known that Dicky Bend Had ever been the poor man's friend.
—The hours were pass'd in tranquil joy,
No sick'ning cup, no feast to cloy;
Nought struck the ear, or met the eye, But friendship, love and harmony:
A scene that might give ample scope To furnish out a solid hope,
That Dicky Bend, with such a wife Would find the rarest good of life.
Syntax th'important deed had done.
And now no longer would postpone
The last great point he had in view, In town to pass a week or two.
He on the wedding's joyful eve,
Of Bride and Bridegroom took his leave,
To gain some neighb'ring inn's abode
Where, seated on a turnpike road,
He might a quick conveyance find.
—Phillis and Punch were left behind,
Their time in idleness to pass, And fatten on the Provost's grass.
—The Doctor had not long to wait,
A stage-coach stopp'd before the gate:
He a convenient sitting shar'd; Pat took his place beside the guard;
And, having safe arriv'd in town, At Hatchett's Hotel were set down.
Nor had the busy following day In vain research been pass'd away,
For free from the street's rattling din,
He found repose in Thavies Inn,
Where from the town's unceasing riot,
He could enjoy his time in quiet;
If he should chuse his pen to wield In learning's wide polemic field;
Or let his lively fancy play With reigning subjects of the day,
Or sport away his leisure time, In lighter works of prose or rhyme:
This place appear'd a calm retreat For learning or the Muses' seat,
Such as he thought could scarce be found
Within the City's ample bound.
—Whether he thus the scene employs, Or how its comforts he enjoys;
What pleasure seeks, what cares dispel,
Perhaps, a future page may tell.