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 |  |
In the mean time he stroll'd about, At farm or cot popp'd in and out,
And, with kind condescending glee,
Chatted with those he chanc'd to see.
One morn, as in the church-yard walking,
He to himself was calmly talking,
While Mat, the Sexton, sung a stave, Half in and half out of a grave;
He was saluted by a dame, And Cath'rine Horner was her name;
On whom, long past her early youth,
Old Time had work'd with rankling tooth:
Her wrinkled cheeks, so lank and dry,
Form'd channels for each wat'ry eye,
And on her chin the curling hair Was thinly sprinkled here and there.
With age she was completely shent,
Her knees with tott'ring weakness bent,
And on a young man's arm she leant;
When thus she to the Doctor spoke,
In tones between a squeak and croak:
“I hope my suit may not miscarry; I am to ask you, Sir, to marry.”
His Rev'rence then, with scornful eye, Began this curious colloquy.
Syntax.—
“To marry?—whom? you doting fool!
What's got into your brainless scull?”
Th'old woman, striving to display A bashful look, begg'd leave to say
“I meant not, Sir, to give offence Unto your honour's reverence:
I mean no harm as I can see, When I ask you to marry me.”—
Now Syntax, had he seen a ghost,
Could not have look'd more terror-crost,
“What means the witch?” he stamping said,
“Or has your old age turn'd your head?”
M. H.
“I've reach'd, 'tis true, my latter season,
But still, I hope, I've kept my reason;
I cannot be an idle prater, If I but seek to follow nature;
I only wish you'd marry me To the young man whom here you see;
And I declare as I'm alive, I was last week but sixty-five.
I know I ne'er was much a beauty, But honest Jack will do his duty;
And why should I withhold consent, If I'm well-pleas'd, and he's content?
I know that many silly folk Will turn grave things into a joke,
But where's the joke in this connection?
He gains support, I gain protection;
And let them laugh, when they shall see
That he has made a fool of me.
The girls may scoff, but they'd be glad
To have for sweethearts such a lad.
If I told all that I could tell”—
Syntax.—
“If you were quiet, 'twere as well.
Sexton, I now must trust to you What with these people I'm to do.”
Sexton.—
“An' please you, Sir, I know the story
Of this same pair who stand before you:
And though I feel I am but dull— One is a knave and one's a fool:
Her cottage, that's by yonder wall, He wishes to be his—that's all.
Besides 'tis known that Mother Horner
Has gold and notes in some sly corner,
And when that he has nos'd them out,
The Raff will make them fly about:
Though young he is a sorry sot, Her little all will go to pot;
If he's permitted to deceive her He soon will to the parish leave her.
I know the boy from five years old, Saucy and impudent and bold:
When than that stone he was not higher
He was a most notorious liar;
And I must own I should be loth To take his word upon his oath:
This leg of mine 'gainst that dead bone
I'll lay, that he's not twenty-one.
Always so wicked, and so wild, 'Tis said he's Farmer Fatgut's child,
For he maintain'd him while he liv'd,
And his tricks oft the old man griev'd.
He has been caught in laying snares
For catching 'Squire Worthy's hares,
And now with artful, am'rous fuss, He's laid a snare for that old puss;
And, if not stopp'd in what he's doing,
He'll lead the old fool to her ruin;
For if he could, ne'er mind the sin, He'd eat her flesh and sell her skin.”
And, with kind condescending glee,
Chatted with those he chanc'd to see.
One morn, as in the church-yard walking,
He to himself was calmly talking,
While Mat, the Sexton, sung a stave, Half in and half out of a grave;
He was saluted by a dame, And Cath'rine Horner was her name;
On whom, long past her early youth,
Old Time had work'd with rankling tooth:
Her wrinkled cheeks, so lank and dry,
Form'd channels for each wat'ry eye,
And on her chin the curling hair Was thinly sprinkled here and there.
With age she was completely shent,
Her knees with tott'ring weakness bent,
And on a young man's arm she leant;
When thus she to the Doctor spoke,
In tones between a squeak and croak:
“I hope my suit may not miscarry; I am to ask you, Sir, to marry.”
His Rev'rence then, with scornful eye, Began this curious colloquy.
Syntax.—
“To marry?—whom? you doting fool!
What's got into your brainless scull?”
Th'old woman, striving to display A bashful look, begg'd leave to say
“I meant not, Sir, to give offence Unto your honour's reverence:
I mean no harm as I can see, When I ask you to marry me.”—
Now Syntax, had he seen a ghost,
Could not have look'd more terror-crost,
“What means the witch?” he stamping said,
“Or has your old age turn'd your head?”
M. H.
“I've reach'd, 'tis true, my latter season,
But still, I hope, I've kept my reason;
I cannot be an idle prater, If I but seek to follow nature;
I only wish you'd marry me To the young man whom here you see;
And I declare as I'm alive, I was last week but sixty-five.
I know I ne'er was much a beauty, But honest Jack will do his duty;
And why should I withhold consent, If I'm well-pleas'd, and he's content?
I know that many silly folk Will turn grave things into a joke,
But where's the joke in this connection?
He gains support, I gain protection;
And let them laugh, when they shall see
That he has made a fool of me.
288
To have for sweethearts such a lad.
If I told all that I could tell”—
Syntax.—
“If you were quiet, 'twere as well.
Sexton, I now must trust to you What with these people I'm to do.”
Sexton.—
“An' please you, Sir, I know the story
Of this same pair who stand before you:
And though I feel I am but dull— One is a knave and one's a fool:
Her cottage, that's by yonder wall, He wishes to be his—that's all.
Besides 'tis known that Mother Horner
Has gold and notes in some sly corner,
And when that he has nos'd them out,
The Raff will make them fly about:
Though young he is a sorry sot, Her little all will go to pot;
If he's permitted to deceive her He soon will to the parish leave her.
I know the boy from five years old, Saucy and impudent and bold:
When than that stone he was not higher
He was a most notorious liar;
And I must own I should be loth To take his word upon his oath:
This leg of mine 'gainst that dead bone
I'll lay, that he's not twenty-one.
Always so wicked, and so wild, 'Tis said he's Farmer Fatgut's child,
For he maintain'd him while he liv'd,
And his tricks oft the old man griev'd.
He has been caught in laying snares
For catching 'Squire Worthy's hares,
And now with artful, am'rous fuss, He's laid a snare for that old puss;
And, if not stopp'd in what he's doing,
He'll lead the old fool to her ruin;
For if he could, ne'er mind the sin, He'd eat her flesh and sell her skin.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |