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 supper o'er, the Lady gone, (More than content to be alone,)
The Knight began, with bloated pride, Both love and lovers to deride,
And in his warmth, declar'd a wife Seldom improv'd the lot of life:
At least Miss Fortune, in her whim, Had fully prov'd it so to him.
“I've told you, that my former choice Gave me no reason to rejoice,
And the last gift of treach'rous Cupid Is pretty, but she's very stupid.
—O Doctor, Doctor, ne'er again Bind yourself round in marriage chain.
If in love's lottery you have tried And gain'd a prize be satisfied,
Nor hope that fickle Fortune e'er
Will make you twice her favorite care.
—Ask not for beauty, it doth lay Its nets of roses in our way,
When we are led by tint and shape,
Like Zeuxis' birds to peck the grape;
And 'stead of chaste affection's glow, We find, alas, a painted show.
But if you are resolv'd to try Once more a nuptial destiny,
Which my experience bids me say, Is placing you in danger's way
Think not I beg about the charms That waken passion's soft alarms;
But let a fortune and sound sense Determine the pre-eminence.
I know, my friend, that you inherit A portion large of manly spirit.
That you would ne'er be brought to speak
In humble tone of Jerry Sneak;
And so attach'd to learned lore, Of which you have a treasur'd store,
That you would thus describe a wife:—
One who had such a view of life,
Between the vulgar and refin'd, As suits the tenor of your mind;
With manners too of that degree Which blends with Cleric Dignity:
And such a partner could you find You to your fate might be resign'd.
The Knight began, with bloated pride, Both love and lovers to deride,
And in his warmth, declar'd a wife Seldom improv'd the lot of life:
At least Miss Fortune, in her whim, Had fully prov'd it so to him.
“I've told you, that my former choice Gave me no reason to rejoice,
And the last gift of treach'rous Cupid Is pretty, but she's very stupid.
—O Doctor, Doctor, ne'er again Bind yourself round in marriage chain.
If in love's lottery you have tried And gain'd a prize be satisfied,
Nor hope that fickle Fortune e'er
Will make you twice her favorite care.
—Ask not for beauty, it doth lay Its nets of roses in our way,
When we are led by tint and shape,
Like Zeuxis' birds to peck the grape;
And 'stead of chaste affection's glow, We find, alas, a painted show.
But if you are resolv'd to try Once more a nuptial destiny,
Which my experience bids me say, Is placing you in danger's way
Think not I beg about the charms That waken passion's soft alarms;
272
I know, my friend, that you inherit A portion large of manly spirit.
That you would ne'er be brought to speak
In humble tone of Jerry Sneak;
And so attach'd to learned lore, Of which you have a treasur'd store,
That you would thus describe a wife:—
One who had such a view of life,
Between the vulgar and refin'd, As suits the tenor of your mind;
With manners too of that degree Which blends with Cleric Dignity:
And such a partner could you find You to your fate might be resign'd.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |