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 |  |
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.
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.
221
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;
222
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.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |