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 |  |
“Now discontent for once possess'd The interregnum of my breast,
And sorrows, scarcely known, increase To trouble my domestic peace:
Hence calm reflection bids me try In Hymen's cord another tie,
To soothe a widow'd father's care
And ease the toil which he must bear.
The widow Harley now I sought, Who was an object as I thought,
Most fit, if not the only one, To fill her place so lately gone;
Who would a tender mother prove To babes whom I so fondly love,
And, with a warm affection, be, A kind and faithful wife to me.
Nay, as she had a little pride, Whose wants her fortune ill supplied,
I thought, when I my hand should proffer,
She'd jump transported at the offer:
But, instead of grateful graces, Smiling looks and warm embraces,
She, on venal interest bent, A rascally attorney sent
To claim a hungry settlement,
With such conditions at the close, That up in arms my passions rose:
When, to return his saucy airs, I sent him, spite of all his prayers,
Four steps at once adown the stairs.
Thus the vile lawyer's head I broke And cast away the Widow's yoke.
“At length the best of girls I chose,
Whom my good friend the Doctor knows,
And knows I'm certain, to admire As all a husband can desire.
Two more fine bairns my Kate has given,
The finest offspring under Heaven:
While she a parent is as good To all the other growing brood,
As their own mother would have been,
Had she remain'd upon the scene.
Nor does she anything to teaze me,
But always, always what will please me.
Whate'er I wish or do prefer, Becomes an instant law to her.
By Jove I swear, it is no joke, To please me she has learn'd to smoke,
And after dinner you will see A smoking trio we shall be
Beneath a spreading beechen-tree:
Where we our mod'rate cups will quaff,
There hear your pleasant tales and laugh—
And o'er the philosophic bowl Let loose the language of the Soul.”
Syntax.—
“'Squire Ned, your Hist'ry makes me feel,
As I must own, an added zeal,
Once more to try my future fate In vent'ring on the marriage state.
Two Widows I have on my list, And cannot you contrive to twist
Into the roll some female friend,
My hopes to feed, my chance to mend?”
And sorrows, scarcely known, increase To trouble my domestic peace:
Hence calm reflection bids me try In Hymen's cord another tie,
To soothe a widow'd father's care
And ease the toil which he must bear.
The widow Harley now I sought, Who was an object as I thought,
Most fit, if not the only one, To fill her place so lately gone;
Who would a tender mother prove To babes whom I so fondly love,
And, with a warm affection, be, A kind and faithful wife to me.
278
I thought, when I my hand should proffer,
She'd jump transported at the offer:
But, instead of grateful graces, Smiling looks and warm embraces,
She, on venal interest bent, A rascally attorney sent
To claim a hungry settlement,
With such conditions at the close, That up in arms my passions rose:
When, to return his saucy airs, I sent him, spite of all his prayers,
Four steps at once adown the stairs.
Thus the vile lawyer's head I broke And cast away the Widow's yoke.
“At length the best of girls I chose,
Whom my good friend the Doctor knows,
And knows I'm certain, to admire As all a husband can desire.
Two more fine bairns my Kate has given,
The finest offspring under Heaven:
While she a parent is as good To all the other growing brood,
As their own mother would have been,
Had she remain'd upon the scene.
Nor does she anything to teaze me,
But always, always what will please me.
Whate'er I wish or do prefer, Becomes an instant law to her.
By Jove I swear, it is no joke, To please me she has learn'd to smoke,
And after dinner you will see A smoking trio we shall be
Beneath a spreading beechen-tree:
Where we our mod'rate cups will quaff,
There hear your pleasant tales and laugh—
And o'er the philosophic bowl Let loose the language of the Soul.”
Syntax.—
“'Squire Ned, your Hist'ry makes me feel,
As I must own, an added zeal,
Once more to try my future fate In vent'ring on the marriage state.
Two Widows I have on my list, And cannot you contrive to twist
Into the roll some female friend,
My hopes to feed, my chance to mend?”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |