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 |  |
'Tis true experience sage has said, And as a real truth pourtray'd,
That happy hours may be our own, But happy days are never known.
The morn may smile, the noon may weep,
While pain at night may banish sleep:
Our own or some dear friend's distress May check a smiling happiness:
E'en while it mantles on the brow The heart may feel a sense of woe.
Thus throughout life 'tis man's frail nature
To be a discontented creature,
Indeed, we must the truth confess, How oft we look for happiness
From what we never may possess;
But ask, in life's continu'd chase,
For change of things and change of place,
And as our real good pursue, What we behold in distant view,
Beyond possession's present hour;—
'Tis that we wish within our power,
And o'er a something seem to brood, Contrasted with our present good.
If you ask where doth dwell content
'Neath cot or lofty battlement,
Whether in car of state it ride Or by the humble peasant's side?
Or in the court of kings doth dwell Or in the hermit's lonely cell?
Say does it dance in lover's bower, Or pass in smiles the rural hour?
Do laurel leaves entwine it round, Or is it at the banquet found?
Say does it crouch 'neath Cupid's wing,
Or play upon the minstrel's string?
No—this is the keen mind's reply, Such is the world's philosophy.
—When in the car of state you ride Content is by the peasant's side:
Whene'er you gaze from mountain's brow
You see him in the vale below;
And when you join the courtly train, He doth appear a rustic swain.
Nay, when in splendid halls you're seen, He dances on the village green.
Thus in vain your time is spent, For never will you find content.
As you pursue, he flies for ever, Nor will you overtake him—never.
Or high or low, whate'er our lot, We view him on some envied spot,
But dimly seen, where we are not.
Broken with toils, with arms opprest,
The soldier thinks the merchant blest,
Who calmly sits at home at ease, While fortune, with her fav'ring breeze,
Wafts him her treasures o'er the seas.
And when the threatening tempests rise,
War is my choice the merchant cries;
For battle ends th'hero's story, Or brings him death or gives him glory.
—When the country 'Squire is seen At number six in Lincoln's-Inn,
With healthy look and ruddy face To give his fee and state his case,
The wearied lawyer 'midst his books,
With gaping yawn and pallid looks,
Longs to buy lands and country-seat
To give him health and calm retreat;
While as th'admiring client's eye Beholds the vast variety
Of stately forms and the gay measure
Of each embroider'd scene of pleasure
Which the vast city's limits give, He longs in Portland-Place to live.
That happy hours may be our own, But happy days are never known.
The morn may smile, the noon may weep,
While pain at night may banish sleep:
Our own or some dear friend's distress May check a smiling happiness:
E'en while it mantles on the brow The heart may feel a sense of woe.
Thus throughout life 'tis man's frail nature
To be a discontented creature,
Indeed, we must the truth confess, How oft we look for happiness
From what we never may possess;
But ask, in life's continu'd chase,
For change of things and change of place,
And as our real good pursue, What we behold in distant view,
Beyond possession's present hour;—
'Tis that we wish within our power,
And o'er a something seem to brood, Contrasted with our present good.
If you ask where doth dwell content
'Neath cot or lofty battlement,
Whether in car of state it ride Or by the humble peasant's side?
Or in the court of kings doth dwell Or in the hermit's lonely cell?
252
Do laurel leaves entwine it round, Or is it at the banquet found?
Say does it crouch 'neath Cupid's wing,
Or play upon the minstrel's string?
No—this is the keen mind's reply, Such is the world's philosophy.
—When in the car of state you ride Content is by the peasant's side:
Whene'er you gaze from mountain's brow
You see him in the vale below;
And when you join the courtly train, He doth appear a rustic swain.
Nay, when in splendid halls you're seen, He dances on the village green.
Thus in vain your time is spent, For never will you find content.
As you pursue, he flies for ever, Nor will you overtake him—never.
Or high or low, whate'er our lot, We view him on some envied spot,
But dimly seen, where we are not.
Broken with toils, with arms opprest,
The soldier thinks the merchant blest,
Who calmly sits at home at ease, While fortune, with her fav'ring breeze,
Wafts him her treasures o'er the seas.
And when the threatening tempests rise,
War is my choice the merchant cries;
For battle ends th'hero's story, Or brings him death or gives him glory.
—When the country 'Squire is seen At number six in Lincoln's-Inn,
With healthy look and ruddy face To give his fee and state his case,
The wearied lawyer 'midst his books,
With gaping yawn and pallid looks,
Longs to buy lands and country-seat
To give him health and calm retreat;
While as th'admiring client's eye Beholds the vast variety
Of stately forms and the gay measure
Of each embroider'd scene of pleasure
Which the vast city's limits give, He longs in Portland-Place to live.
O fortunati mercatores! gravis armis
Miles ait, multo jam fractus membra labore.
Contra Mercator, navim jactantibus Austris,
Militia est potior. Quid enim? concurritor: horæ
Momento cita mors venit, aut victoria læta.
Agricolam laudat juris legumque peritus,
Sub galli cantum consultor ubi ostia pulsat.
Ille, datis vadibus, qui rure extractus in urbem est,
Solos felices viventes clamat in urbe.
Miles ait, multo jam fractus membra labore.
Contra Mercator, navim jactantibus Austris,
Militia est potior. Quid enim? concurritor: horæ
Momento cita mors venit, aut victoria læta.
Agricolam laudat juris legumque peritus,
Sub galli cantum consultor ubi ostia pulsat.
Ille, datis vadibus, qui rure extractus in urbem est,
Solos felices viventes clamat in urbe.
Hor. Sat. Lib. i.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |