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 |  |
The Farmer now a pipe propos'd, The Doctor on the offer clos'd;
And John who was not prone to balk The fancy which he had to talk,
Continued with his rustic force To paint the Knight in his discourse.
Farmer John.—
“He's a rum codger you must know;
At least we poor folk find him so.
By his grand politics and law He keeps the country round in awe:
He thinks he knows, puff'd up with pride,
Far more than all the world beside;
But when did any body hear, He for distress e'er shed a tear?
Or when did he a shilling give A wife in labour to relieve?
Or when were seen the hungry poor Receiving scraps before his door?
Nor does he think an orphan's blessing
To be a treasure worth possessing;
But warrants, staves, and mastiffs wait
To guard the approaches to his gate.
Yes, all his acts a tyrant shew him To all degrees that are below him;
But let a man of rank go by, He's ready in the dust to lie.
From me the laws ne'er find a breach,
I therefore keep without his reach;
Though if the hills which rise between us
Could from his paws for ever screen us,
O it would be a blessing found By all the grumbling country round!
—You did not know his former wife:
She led the Knight a precious life:
That over-bearing haughty spirit, Which he from nature does inherit,
She, whene'er she pleas'd, kept under,
With look of flame and voice of thunder.
He went abroad, 'tis true, to rule, But home return'd so calm and cool,
That, but excepting form and name,
None would believe the man the same.
Nor has he ever yet denied He bless'd the day on which she died,
And that he thought her fun'ral rite Was not a very mournful sight.
But you must know, as I suppose, For 'tis what all the country knows,
Ere a few months had pass'd away, Old Stirrup-Hall again was gay
With marriage feast; and a young bride
Was seen to grace Sir Stately's side.
She, foolish thing, thought it a gay day
When golden ring made her a Lady;
But though she now precedence takes
Of 'Squires' wives around the lakes;
And though she doth a rank display,
Which time itself can't take away,
Yet she now finds, as 'tis well known,
She scarce can call her soul her own:
And as for gaiety or pleasure 'Tis dealt to her in grudging measure:
Nay, it is thought, as some folks say, Who see and hear her ev'ry day,
That she oft wishes, though in vain, She were Miss Biddiken again.”
Syntax.—
“I find, my friend, that you know more
Than I have ever heard before:
'Tis strange to me a swain like you Can such a scene as this review;
And how it is you thus can pry Into domestic history.”
Farmer John.—
“On market-days, our bus'ness done,
We sit and chat and have our fun;
And while we handle pipe and pot, Our betters, Sir, are not forgot.
We hear the bad as well as good In ev'ry farmer's neighbourhood.
And broach the news with equal bounty,
From ev'ry corner of the County.”
Syntax.—
“Well, honest John, I ask you then,
What do you say of Sommerden?”
Farmer John.—
“Another cup before I speak,
And then I will the freedom take
To say what's in the country said,
Both of your heart and of your head,
Nor fear offence, though I speak true; For good alone is said of you.
—You're call'd a man of deep discerning,
Fit for a Bishop by your learning;
Pious and good, yet very gay, And that you on the fiddle play:
That in the pulpit you're a rare one,
And lay it on, and never spare one:
As for the bad you ne'er defend 'em,
But headlong to the devil send 'em:
Though, as the truth you wish to hear,
And what you preach you need not fear,
Folks say that you are rather queer.”
Syntax.—
“Give me your hand, my honest friend,
To more than this I ne'er pretend:
If it be true, I'm well content Or for my life or monument.
I ask, indeed, no higher praise,
While Heaven may lengthen out my days;
Nor do I wish a better fame, When nought is left me but a name.
Farewell, for the declining sun Tells me, at length, I must be gone.”
And John who was not prone to balk The fancy which he had to talk,
Continued with his rustic force To paint the Knight in his discourse.
267
“He's a rum codger you must know;
At least we poor folk find him so.
By his grand politics and law He keeps the country round in awe:
He thinks he knows, puff'd up with pride,
Far more than all the world beside;
But when did any body hear, He for distress e'er shed a tear?
Or when did he a shilling give A wife in labour to relieve?
Or when were seen the hungry poor Receiving scraps before his door?
Nor does he think an orphan's blessing
To be a treasure worth possessing;
But warrants, staves, and mastiffs wait
To guard the approaches to his gate.
Yes, all his acts a tyrant shew him To all degrees that are below him;
But let a man of rank go by, He's ready in the dust to lie.
From me the laws ne'er find a breach,
I therefore keep without his reach;
Though if the hills which rise between us
Could from his paws for ever screen us,
O it would be a blessing found By all the grumbling country round!
—You did not know his former wife:
She led the Knight a precious life:
That over-bearing haughty spirit, Which he from nature does inherit,
She, whene'er she pleas'd, kept under,
With look of flame and voice of thunder.
He went abroad, 'tis true, to rule, But home return'd so calm and cool,
That, but excepting form and name,
None would believe the man the same.
Nor has he ever yet denied He bless'd the day on which she died,
And that he thought her fun'ral rite Was not a very mournful sight.
But you must know, as I suppose, For 'tis what all the country knows,
Ere a few months had pass'd away, Old Stirrup-Hall again was gay
With marriage feast; and a young bride
Was seen to grace Sir Stately's side.
She, foolish thing, thought it a gay day
When golden ring made her a Lady;
But though she now precedence takes
Of 'Squires' wives around the lakes;
And though she doth a rank display,
Which time itself can't take away,
Yet she now finds, as 'tis well known,
She scarce can call her soul her own:
And as for gaiety or pleasure 'Tis dealt to her in grudging measure:
Nay, it is thought, as some folks say, Who see and hear her ev'ry day,
That she oft wishes, though in vain, She were Miss Biddiken again.”
Syntax.—
“I find, my friend, that you know more
Than I have ever heard before:
'Tis strange to me a swain like you Can such a scene as this review;
And how it is you thus can pry Into domestic history.”
Farmer John.—
“On market-days, our bus'ness done,
We sit and chat and have our fun;
And while we handle pipe and pot, Our betters, Sir, are not forgot.
We hear the bad as well as good In ev'ry farmer's neighbourhood.
268
From ev'ry corner of the County.”
Syntax.—
“Well, honest John, I ask you then,
What do you say of Sommerden?”
Farmer John.—
“Another cup before I speak,
And then I will the freedom take
To say what's in the country said,
Both of your heart and of your head,
Nor fear offence, though I speak true; For good alone is said of you.
—You're call'd a man of deep discerning,
Fit for a Bishop by your learning;
Pious and good, yet very gay, And that you on the fiddle play:
That in the pulpit you're a rare one,
And lay it on, and never spare one:
As for the bad you ne'er defend 'em,
But headlong to the devil send 'em:
Though, as the truth you wish to hear,
And what you preach you need not fear,
Folks say that you are rather queer.”
Syntax.—
“Give me your hand, my honest friend,
To more than this I ne'er pretend:
If it be true, I'm well content Or for my life or monument.
I ask, indeed, no higher praise,
While Heaven may lengthen out my days;
Nor do I wish a better fame, When nought is left me but a name.
Farewell, for the declining sun Tells me, at length, I must be gone.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |