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 |  |
An antique tripod now appear'd Upon three grinning Satyrs rear'd,
And at each corner there was wrought The visage of a bearded goat;
The basins which contain'd the tea Show'd ornamental sympathy,
For they shone bright with golden darts,
The cakes too bore the form of hearts,
While the dark vase that held the cream Did the Etruscan fabric seem.
—And now a glove the Widow dropp'd
When up in haste the Doctor popp'd,
To give back with an eager grace, The fallen trifle to its place;
When the stool tripp'd, and threw him o'er
In sprawling length along the floor:
The tripod also sought the ground, The goats and satyrs lay around,
And china's broken forms display'd The ruin which his fall had made.
Ma'am to the bell plied such a stroke
That the rich silken cordage broke,
And pale-fac'd maids came rushing in
To know what caus'd the mighty din.
The Doctor rose, confus'd, amaz'd, And on the shatter'd ruins gaz'd,
When he exclaim'd, “The best design
Doth often meet a fate like mine!”
But soon the sage was kindly greeted And soft consoling words repeated.
“O be not at this bustle griev'd If you no mischief have receiv'd,
If safe in hand, if safe in arm, Let not your looks express alarm;
O never, never mind the rest, And be not, Doctor, so distrest!
Genius does awkward things they say—
I'm doing them, aye, ev'ry day:
And, when that you shall know me better,
You'll find in me, Sir, à la lettre,
What Pope so honours with applause,
That temper which, whate'er the cause,
Ne'er makes complaints, nor frowns, nor squalls,
E'en though the fav'rite china falls.
But to dispel your startled care, In the next room we'll seek a chair,
And Bacchus' self shall meet you there.”
“—A chair,” said Syntax, “by your leave,
I will with your commands receive,
But, please you, I'll excuse the stool
Which caus'd me thus to play the fool,
Unless you can procure me one To mourn the mischief I have done;
Where I may seat me and repent, In form of awkward penitent.”
—The Dame exclaim'd, with uplift eye, As if in rapt'rous extacy,
“O bravo, Doctor! O what a wit! How nicely too you manage it!
All the best china I've in store I'd willing see upon the floor;
O it would be a trifling price To make the paltry sacrifice,
If but my fancy would take wing, And make me say so good a thing!
But wit like yours is never taught,
Nor can with power of gold be bought;
'Tis genius, or the happiest nature, That of this gift is the creator;
But she forgot as you may see, To give th'awak'ning charm to me.
Hence 'twould be venial if from you I could purloin a flash or two,
To keep for use and lively play, Upon some chosen, gawdy day.”
And at each corner there was wrought The visage of a bearded goat;
The basins which contain'd the tea Show'd ornamental sympathy,
For they shone bright with golden darts,
The cakes too bore the form of hearts,
While the dark vase that held the cream Did the Etruscan fabric seem.
—And now a glove the Widow dropp'd
When up in haste the Doctor popp'd,
To give back with an eager grace, The fallen trifle to its place;
When the stool tripp'd, and threw him o'er
In sprawling length along the floor:
The tripod also sought the ground, The goats and satyrs lay around,
And china's broken forms display'd The ruin which his fall had made.
Ma'am to the bell plied such a stroke
That the rich silken cordage broke,
And pale-fac'd maids came rushing in
293
The Doctor rose, confus'd, amaz'd, And on the shatter'd ruins gaz'd,
When he exclaim'd, “The best design
Doth often meet a fate like mine!”
But soon the sage was kindly greeted And soft consoling words repeated.
“O be not at this bustle griev'd If you no mischief have receiv'd,
If safe in hand, if safe in arm, Let not your looks express alarm;
O never, never mind the rest, And be not, Doctor, so distrest!
Genius does awkward things they say—
I'm doing them, aye, ev'ry day:
And, when that you shall know me better,
You'll find in me, Sir, à la lettre,
What Pope so honours with applause,
That temper which, whate'er the cause,
Ne'er makes complaints, nor frowns, nor squalls,
E'en though the fav'rite china falls.
But to dispel your startled care, In the next room we'll seek a chair,
And Bacchus' self shall meet you there.”
“—A chair,” said Syntax, “by your leave,
I will with your commands receive,
But, please you, I'll excuse the stool
Which caus'd me thus to play the fool,
Unless you can procure me one To mourn the mischief I have done;
Where I may seat me and repent, In form of awkward penitent.”
—The Dame exclaim'd, with uplift eye, As if in rapt'rous extacy,
“O bravo, Doctor! O what a wit! How nicely too you manage it!
All the best china I've in store I'd willing see upon the floor;
O it would be a trifling price To make the paltry sacrifice,
If but my fancy would take wing, And make me say so good a thing!
But wit like yours is never taught,
Nor can with power of gold be bought;
'Tis genius, or the happiest nature, That of this gift is the creator;
But she forgot as you may see, To give th'awak'ning charm to me.
Hence 'twould be venial if from you I could purloin a flash or two,
To keep for use and lively play, Upon some chosen, gawdy day.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |