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 |  |
Thus Syntax, as he view'd the throng Who sped the jovial hours along,
And took a short-liv'd leave of care, Amid the gambols of a fair,
From Rect'ry porch indulg'd the hour
In letting loose his well-known power,
When, without any social friend, He did his studious mind unbend.
Thus with many a maxim fraught That play'd upon his busy thought,
He from his easy-chair arose And did again his thoughts disclose
That bore the air, though 'twas not meant,
Of calm but tender discontent.
“The Worthies now have left their home
For many a week or month to come;
And since their heiress has been tied In wedlock and become a bride,
They with parental joy imprest Are now their daughter's welcome guest.
Thus since my much-lov'd friends are gone,
I feel what 'tis to be alone.
Nor do my Classic shelves supply The cheerless dull vacuity:
They help to pass an hour away, But cannot serve me through the day;
While sluggard time appears to crawl
Through the unwelcome interval:
Nor does my reason feel it good To lead this life of solitude.
With many a blessing I must own, I'm almost discontented grown,
And if I check it not ere long I shall be thinking very wrong:
Some foreign help-mates I must call To aid me ere this sense enthrall
My spirits, 'gainst whose powers I preach
And prove the doctrines which I teach.
—Besides when I am thus alone I think upon my Dolly gone:
I see her wheresoe'er I stray In open walk or woodland way.
When I an ev'ning saunter take Beside the margin of the lake,
I recollect the tender charm When she hung fondly on my arm,
Where, when the day was almost done,
We had talk'd down the ev'ning sun.
Nay I perceive my erring mind Is to her loss far less resign'd,
Than when the power we must obey, Consign'd her to her native clay;
Nay, resignation, ev'ry hour Appears to lose its wholesome power.
This is not as it ought to be, Nor reason, nor philosophy,
Nor pious duty can forbear To disapprove such worldly care.
If then this lonely life appears T'engender sighs and ask for tears,
I must th'untoward system change, In wider fields of converse range;
Nor fear to mingle in the strife, As chance directs, that chequers life;
And, by new, varying, scenes restore My mind to what it was before.
Though my earlier years have been Of study the laborious scene,
Yet social pleasure bore a part To quicken sense and cheer the heart;
Nor did my spirits ever feel When at the foot of fortune's wheel,
And life scarce knew its due supply, The tremors of despondency;
Such as of late I'm doom'd to find The jaundic'd temper of the mind.
What's to be done, how can I cure This restless something I endure?
A learn'd Divine, it may be said, Should know where to apply for aid,
And he who doth to others preach,
Should have the means himself to teach.
It is not that my mind's embued With any act of turpitude;
'Tis not an error deep and grave That doth the virtuous wish enslave,
Which may awake the fear of Heaven,
And doubts it may not be forgiven;
That doth for pale repentance call To change the sorrowing prodigal;
No, 'tis the feeling heart's vagary
Which chance may give and time may vary:
That from some nat'ral cause arises,
Which neither angers, nor surprises:
But still it plagues while it doth last, Nor must we let it hold us fast;
For should we not its power oppose At length it into habit grows,
And may become a rooted feature
T'encrease the weaknesses of nature;
While full enough, none will contest, Are to be found among the best.
But is he not the weakest, who Suffers his fancy to pursue
That train of thought which may augment
The source of idle discontent?
And after all, 'tis this same folly That serves to make me melancholy.
'Tis plain then, I have nought to do,
But these weak symptoms to subdue.
From this dull slumb'ring to awake,
From these disheart'ning thoughts to break,
To form new schemes, to leave off talking,
And set my better mind a walking.”
Here Syntax paus'd and silent stood,
In grave and contemplative mood,
When ancient Madge, who wound the reel,
And gave the movement to her wheel,
Tow'rds Heaven appear'd to cast her eye
And gave a deep and heart-felt sigh.
And took a short-liv'd leave of care, Amid the gambols of a fair,
From Rect'ry porch indulg'd the hour
In letting loose his well-known power,
When, without any social friend, He did his studious mind unbend.
Thus with many a maxim fraught That play'd upon his busy thought,
He from his easy-chair arose And did again his thoughts disclose
That bore the air, though 'twas not meant,
Of calm but tender discontent.
“The Worthies now have left their home
For many a week or month to come;
And since their heiress has been tied In wedlock and become a bride,
They with parental joy imprest Are now their daughter's welcome guest.
Thus since my much-lov'd friends are gone,
I feel what 'tis to be alone.
Nor do my Classic shelves supply The cheerless dull vacuity:
They help to pass an hour away, But cannot serve me through the day;
While sluggard time appears to crawl
Through the unwelcome interval:
Nor does my reason feel it good To lead this life of solitude.
With many a blessing I must own, I'm almost discontented grown,
And if I check it not ere long I shall be thinking very wrong:
Some foreign help-mates I must call To aid me ere this sense enthrall
My spirits, 'gainst whose powers I preach
And prove the doctrines which I teach.
—Besides when I am thus alone I think upon my Dolly gone:
I see her wheresoe'er I stray In open walk or woodland way.
When I an ev'ning saunter take Beside the margin of the lake,
I recollect the tender charm When she hung fondly on my arm,
Where, when the day was almost done,
We had talk'd down the ev'ning sun.
Nay I perceive my erring mind Is to her loss far less resign'd,
Than when the power we must obey, Consign'd her to her native clay;
Nay, resignation, ev'ry hour Appears to lose its wholesome power.
This is not as it ought to be, Nor reason, nor philosophy,
Nor pious duty can forbear To disapprove such worldly care.
If then this lonely life appears T'engender sighs and ask for tears,
I must th'untoward system change, In wider fields of converse range;
Nor fear to mingle in the strife, As chance directs, that chequers life;
254
Though my earlier years have been Of study the laborious scene,
Yet social pleasure bore a part To quicken sense and cheer the heart;
Nor did my spirits ever feel When at the foot of fortune's wheel,
And life scarce knew its due supply, The tremors of despondency;
Such as of late I'm doom'd to find The jaundic'd temper of the mind.
What's to be done, how can I cure This restless something I endure?
A learn'd Divine, it may be said, Should know where to apply for aid,
And he who doth to others preach,
Should have the means himself to teach.
It is not that my mind's embued With any act of turpitude;
'Tis not an error deep and grave That doth the virtuous wish enslave,
Which may awake the fear of Heaven,
And doubts it may not be forgiven;
That doth for pale repentance call To change the sorrowing prodigal;
No, 'tis the feeling heart's vagary
Which chance may give and time may vary:
That from some nat'ral cause arises,
Which neither angers, nor surprises:
But still it plagues while it doth last, Nor must we let it hold us fast;
For should we not its power oppose At length it into habit grows,
And may become a rooted feature
T'encrease the weaknesses of nature;
While full enough, none will contest, Are to be found among the best.
But is he not the weakest, who Suffers his fancy to pursue
That train of thought which may augment
The source of idle discontent?
And after all, 'tis this same folly That serves to make me melancholy.
'Tis plain then, I have nought to do,
But these weak symptoms to subdue.
From this dull slumb'ring to awake,
From these disheart'ning thoughts to break,
To form new schemes, to leave off talking,
And set my better mind a walking.”
Here Syntax paus'd and silent stood,
In grave and contemplative mood,
When ancient Madge, who wound the reel,
And gave the movement to her wheel,
Tow'rds Heaven appear'd to cast her eye
And gave a deep and heart-felt sigh.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |