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 |  |
Syntax, now smiling, fill'd his glass,
Then bade the bright decanter pass,
And on the ruby juice intent Gave this congenial sentiment:
“May Hymen with fresh wreaths be crown'd,
And fusty bachelors be drown'd!”
—Bob's visage gloom'd with discontent,
His colour came, his colour went:
Whether it was a fancied joke, Or truth prophetic Syntax spoke,
Old faithful Time would not forbear In its due season to declare;
Cut by Ned Easy it was thought
The net was spread, when Bob was caught,
And that a picture had been shown
Which conscience told him was his own.
“Doctor,” he said, “I must agree, You much too learned are for me;”
Then fill'd the cup with ample measure,
And gave a frown that mark'd displeasure;
Pull'd the bell-rope with all his force,
And bade the servant bring his horse:
But thought invited much to stay, He grumbled No—and went his way.
—Syntax exclaim'd, “O let him pout,
I think that we have found him out:
O what a bursting of the bubble To see Bob Single carry double!
Though now in other view so zealous I warmly hope to hear him tell us,
That life no higher joys can prove
Than those which flow from wedded love.”
In friendly chat the evening pass'd,
Sleep's balmy season came at last;
When Easy said, “Here take my hand,
My heart, you know, you may command:
Such as it is, it ne'er beguiles With flattery's deceitful smiles.
If you return to Keswick's side, With a kind, gracious, pleasing bride,
I shall, with truth unfeign'd, rejoice And loud congratulating voice;
But should your varying suits miscarry,
Should it not be your lot to marry,
And you might sometimes wish to roam From your too solitary home,
Here you will find your friend Ned Easy,
Ready to do his best to please you.”
—Syntax return'd the grasping fist, And with due grace the lady kiss'd,
Then sought the pillow's welcome powers
And slept through night's refreshing hours.
Then bade the bright decanter pass,
And on the ruby juice intent Gave this congenial sentiment:
“May Hymen with fresh wreaths be crown'd,
And fusty bachelors be drown'd!”
—Bob's visage gloom'd with discontent,
His colour came, his colour went:
Whether it was a fancied joke, Or truth prophetic Syntax spoke,
Old faithful Time would not forbear In its due season to declare;
Cut by Ned Easy it was thought
The net was spread, when Bob was caught,
284
Which conscience told him was his own.
“Doctor,” he said, “I must agree, You much too learned are for me;”
Then fill'd the cup with ample measure,
And gave a frown that mark'd displeasure;
Pull'd the bell-rope with all his force,
And bade the servant bring his horse:
But thought invited much to stay, He grumbled No—and went his way.
—Syntax exclaim'd, “O let him pout,
I think that we have found him out:
O what a bursting of the bubble To see Bob Single carry double!
Though now in other view so zealous I warmly hope to hear him tell us,
That life no higher joys can prove
Than those which flow from wedded love.”
In friendly chat the evening pass'd,
Sleep's balmy season came at last;
When Easy said, “Here take my hand,
My heart, you know, you may command:
Such as it is, it ne'er beguiles With flattery's deceitful smiles.
If you return to Keswick's side, With a kind, gracious, pleasing bride,
I shall, with truth unfeign'd, rejoice And loud congratulating voice;
But should your varying suits miscarry,
Should it not be your lot to marry,
And you might sometimes wish to roam From your too solitary home,
Here you will find your friend Ned Easy,
Ready to do his best to please you.”
—Syntax return'd the grasping fist, And with due grace the lady kiss'd,
Then sought the pillow's welcome powers
And slept through night's refreshing hours.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |