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 |  |
What is a Coxcomb?—'tis a fellow A kind of dashing Punchinello,
That does his best attractions owe To glitter and to outward show!
Nor is it to the form confin'd, For there are Coxcombs of the mind,
And, perhaps, fairest ridicule Rests with a better right and rule
Where the young man, just come from college,
With slight bespatterings of knowledge,
Does the grave attention claim, That's due alone to learning's name;
Than where he in life's early vigour,
With glowing cheek and striking figure,
And all those spirits that give wing To the blooming hours of spring,
Asks of vain Fashion's various art Those gay attractions to impart;
Those trappings of exterior show,
Which catch the eye and form the beau.
—The real worth, the sterling good, Require, to be well understood,
Reason, reflection, piercing sense, And, above all, experience;
While what the surface may display To gen'ral gaze, in open day,
Claims little but to see and hear, A ready eye, an open ear.
Syntax well knew that what gave birth
To knowledge and to inbred worth
He could unfold with sure reliance, And set all doubtings at defiance,
Nor did he fear a search to stir In quest of real character;
But still he thought that something more
Than moral charms and learned lore,
Something that's sprightly, gay, gallant,
Must deck his journey militant:
“For,” he exclaim'd, “in this same Tour
I do foresee, nay I am sure, What obstacles I shall endure!
I almost tremble to recount them,
But then how glorious to surmount them.
I must a diff'rent course pursue From all that I've been us'd to do;
My habits I must lay aside, And cocker up my mind with pride;
Feed my calm fancy with a treat Of what the world may term conceit;
For I shall never gain my ends, With all the flattery of friends,
Unless I mend my awkward paces And gain the favour of the Graces.
In common visits I could do, But I'm to visit and to woo:
I may my flatt'ring unction ply To please a lady's vanity;
But then do I possess the art To play the humbug with the heart?
“The Dame who 'midst the fragrance lives,
That her conservatory gives,
Will ne'er allow tobacco's fume To vapour in her drawing-room:
I fear Ma'am Tulip, whose fine eyes Are us'd to nature's richest dyes,
Which, from the morn to night, she sees
On flow'rs and plants, on shrubs and trees,
May with a sudden shriek start back
When she beholds my dingy black:
My speech then must be rich with flowers, As her own aromatic bowers;
And I must bow and I must bend, Ere to her favour I pretend;
And I must tell her she's as fair As any of her lilies are.
If I should dare to snatch a kiss, While I taste th'ambrosial bliss,
The loves to which the plants are prone,
And Dr. Darwin's verse has shown, I must implore to be her own:
I must implore to let me hope That I may be her Heliotrope,
And in return that she may be A smiling Heliotrope to me.
But I must never say or sing That the fine season is the spring;
Though after all, I fear she'll find That I have left May-day behind;
That I am, what she does not want, A stout, tho' but autumnal plant;
And much I fear I shall not prove That autumn is the time for love:
However I will do my best And to my stars must leave the rest.
“Still, on my way new doubts, I find,
Are ever springing in my mind:
Whether with comment or with text, I feel how I shall be perplex'd,
Whene'er the learned dame I see, The mirror of philology.
She has just pass'd the spring of life; So far she'll suit me as a wife;
But to my hopes O what a blow If I should dare to tell her so!
For 'tis her wish, as it appears, To sink at least some saucy years,
And therefore beautiful and young Must be familiar to my tongue!
For surely I've too much discerning,
If I should think mere praise for learning
Would bribe her glowing heart's consent,
However deck'd with compliment:
If I could brush up to her door With liv'ried train and coach-and-four
I then of love might truly speak, And tell my Cyprian tales in Greek.—
But much I fear my simple guise, Will not attract the widow's eyes;
The way to favour I must find By the exertions of the mind,
And by the sentimental art Make out a passage to her heart.
And if I can the way discover To be just smil'd on as a lover,
I'll treat this Lady Omicron With Ovid and Anacreon,
And by those am'rous poets' fire, I may her classic warmth inspire:
Ill-fortune then alone will hinder My scatt'ring sparks upon her tinder;
And waking feelings which may move Her bosom to contemplate love.
That does his best attractions owe To glitter and to outward show!
Nor is it to the form confin'd, For there are Coxcombs of the mind,
And, perhaps, fairest ridicule Rests with a better right and rule
Where the young man, just come from college,
With slight bespatterings of knowledge,
Does the grave attention claim, That's due alone to learning's name;
Than where he in life's early vigour,
With glowing cheek and striking figure,
And all those spirits that give wing To the blooming hours of spring,
Asks of vain Fashion's various art Those gay attractions to impart;
Those trappings of exterior show,
Which catch the eye and form the beau.
—The real worth, the sterling good, Require, to be well understood,
Reason, reflection, piercing sense, And, above all, experience;
While what the surface may display To gen'ral gaze, in open day,
Claims little but to see and hear, A ready eye, an open ear.
Syntax well knew that what gave birth
To knowledge and to inbred worth
He could unfold with sure reliance, And set all doubtings at defiance,
Nor did he fear a search to stir In quest of real character;
But still he thought that something more
Than moral charms and learned lore,
Something that's sprightly, gay, gallant,
Must deck his journey militant:
“For,” he exclaim'd, “in this same Tour
I do foresee, nay I am sure, What obstacles I shall endure!
I almost tremble to recount them,
But then how glorious to surmount them.
I must a diff'rent course pursue From all that I've been us'd to do;
My habits I must lay aside, And cocker up my mind with pride;
Feed my calm fancy with a treat Of what the world may term conceit;
For I shall never gain my ends, With all the flattery of friends,
Unless I mend my awkward paces And gain the favour of the Graces.
286
I may my flatt'ring unction ply To please a lady's vanity;
But then do I possess the art To play the humbug with the heart?
“The Dame who 'midst the fragrance lives,
That her conservatory gives,
Will ne'er allow tobacco's fume To vapour in her drawing-room:
I fear Ma'am Tulip, whose fine eyes Are us'd to nature's richest dyes,
Which, from the morn to night, she sees
On flow'rs and plants, on shrubs and trees,
May with a sudden shriek start back
When she beholds my dingy black:
My speech then must be rich with flowers, As her own aromatic bowers;
And I must bow and I must bend, Ere to her favour I pretend;
And I must tell her she's as fair As any of her lilies are.
If I should dare to snatch a kiss, While I taste th'ambrosial bliss,
The loves to which the plants are prone,
And Dr. Darwin's verse has shown, I must implore to be her own:
I must implore to let me hope That I may be her Heliotrope,
And in return that she may be A smiling Heliotrope to me.
But I must never say or sing That the fine season is the spring;
Though after all, I fear she'll find That I have left May-day behind;
That I am, what she does not want, A stout, tho' but autumnal plant;
And much I fear I shall not prove That autumn is the time for love:
However I will do my best And to my stars must leave the rest.
“Still, on my way new doubts, I find,
Are ever springing in my mind:
Whether with comment or with text, I feel how I shall be perplex'd,
Whene'er the learned dame I see, The mirror of philology.
She has just pass'd the spring of life; So far she'll suit me as a wife;
But to my hopes O what a blow If I should dare to tell her so!
For 'tis her wish, as it appears, To sink at least some saucy years,
And therefore beautiful and young Must be familiar to my tongue!
For surely I've too much discerning,
If I should think mere praise for learning
Would bribe her glowing heart's consent,
However deck'd with compliment:
If I could brush up to her door With liv'ried train and coach-and-four
I then of love might truly speak, And tell my Cyprian tales in Greek.—
But much I fear my simple guise, Will not attract the widow's eyes;
The way to favour I must find By the exertions of the mind,
And by the sentimental art Make out a passage to her heart.
And if I can the way discover To be just smil'd on as a lover,
I'll treat this Lady Omicron With Ovid and Anacreon,
And by those am'rous poets' fire, I may her classic warmth inspire:
Ill-fortune then alone will hinder My scatt'ring sparks upon her tinder;
And waking feelings which may move Her bosom to contemplate love.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |