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 |  |
She now appear'd in all the pride Of figure and of ton beside:
Her form was fine, for plastic Nature
Had work'd with pleasure on her stature.
Of those bright, heav'nly rivals three, Who call'd on Paris to decree
The envied apple, form'd of gold,
The Dame seem'd cast in Juno's mould,
To whom 'tis by the poets given
To wear the breeches e'en in Heaven;
And Madam, as her neighbours sing,
Would do on earth the self-same thing.
Grand, full of animated grace, The chasten'd smile play'd on her face,
And though old Time, that scurvy fellow,
Had brought her to be more than mellow;
Yet taste and art contriv'd to shade
The inroads which his hand had made.
The Doctor view'd her to and fro; And eyed her form from top to toe,
Transfix'd he stood by wild surprize
Told by his tongue and by his eyes,
And stammer'd, for he scarce could speak,
A line in Latin, then in Greek;
Nay told her that she rivall'd Eve,
Who did from Milton's strains receive
That praise which dwells on every tongue,
And has by many a Muse been sung.
The thought with flatt'ring brilliance shone,
And more than pleas'd Ma'am Omicron:
For though each self-prevailing thought
Was with a lurking laughter fraught,
Yet her heart aim'd not at concealing
A pleasure at the Doctor's feeling;
Who, from his lips as well as eye, Gave fuel to her vanity.
Her thanks with so much grace were given,
That Syntax seem'd half-way to Heaven;
Nay, his heart beat with such delight,
He fancied he had got there quite.
She now propos'd a garden walk Where, in some sentimental talk
They might the sun-shine hours consume,
'Till summon'd to the eating-room.
“—O plaintive Hammond, how he shines,”
Said Syntax, “in these charming lines!
“How sweet to wind along the cool retreat
To look and gaze on Delia as I go;
To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet
And teach my lovely scholar all I know!”
She bow'd, and with a side-long glance,
Threw the poor Doctor in a trance,
In which he felt strong inclination
To hint at Love's o'ercoming passion;
But still he felt afraid to stir, 'Till he receiv'd a hint from her.
They gain'd the slope, they sought the glade,
Or, seated 'neath the beechen shade,
They search'd those principles of taste,
Which to Elysium turn the waste;
Here make the crystal waters flow,
Or dash from heights on rocks below, And there erect the portico;
Or column raise, or sink the grot, But ne'er let nature be forgot.
Through fragrant shrubberies they rove,
But not a word was said of Love,
'Till they approach a basin's side, In whose transparent waters glide
The fish, who their bright forms display'd
In gold and silver scales array'd.
“I do not as Narcissus did, Of whom in classic tale we read,”
Syntax exclaim'd, with fond delight, “I view not in the mirror bright
My meagre self; a form divine Does in the liquid crystal shine.
Ah, Lady, and I feel it true, The shadow steals its charms from you!
Here would it stay when you were gone,
And thus be seen when you are flown,
Here would I ask a cot, and gaze
Through the bless'd remnant of my days.”
But on the vision too intent, O'er the green brink he fondly bent,
And sudden dash'd into the water,
While Ma'am ran off to hide her laughter,
And send her household to await The Doctor in his dripping state:
But the mirror was so shallow There was not room to sink or wallow;
And without aid he soon was seen Shaking his wet legs on the green:
But Pat his ready help applied,
And soon each moisten'd part was dried.
Her form was fine, for plastic Nature
Had work'd with pleasure on her stature.
Of those bright, heav'nly rivals three, Who call'd on Paris to decree
The envied apple, form'd of gold,
The Dame seem'd cast in Juno's mould,
To whom 'tis by the poets given
To wear the breeches e'en in Heaven;
And Madam, as her neighbours sing,
Would do on earth the self-same thing.
Grand, full of animated grace, The chasten'd smile play'd on her face,
And though old Time, that scurvy fellow,
Had brought her to be more than mellow;
Yet taste and art contriv'd to shade
The inroads which his hand had made.
The Doctor view'd her to and fro; And eyed her form from top to toe,
Transfix'd he stood by wild surprize
Told by his tongue and by his eyes,
And stammer'd, for he scarce could speak,
A line in Latin, then in Greek;
Nay told her that she rivall'd Eve,
Who did from Milton's strains receive
That praise which dwells on every tongue,
And has by many a Muse been sung.
The thought with flatt'ring brilliance shone,
And more than pleas'd Ma'am Omicron:
For though each self-prevailing thought
Was with a lurking laughter fraught,
297
A pleasure at the Doctor's feeling;
Who, from his lips as well as eye, Gave fuel to her vanity.
Her thanks with so much grace were given,
That Syntax seem'd half-way to Heaven;
Nay, his heart beat with such delight,
He fancied he had got there quite.
She now propos'd a garden walk Where, in some sentimental talk
They might the sun-shine hours consume,
'Till summon'd to the eating-room.
“—O plaintive Hammond, how he shines,”
Said Syntax, “in these charming lines!
“How sweet to wind along the cool retreat
To look and gaze on Delia as I go;
To mingle sweet discourse with kisses sweet
And teach my lovely scholar all I know!”
She bow'd, and with a side-long glance,
Threw the poor Doctor in a trance,
In which he felt strong inclination
To hint at Love's o'ercoming passion;
But still he felt afraid to stir, 'Till he receiv'd a hint from her.
They gain'd the slope, they sought the glade,
Or, seated 'neath the beechen shade,
They search'd those principles of taste,
Which to Elysium turn the waste;
Here make the crystal waters flow,
Or dash from heights on rocks below, And there erect the portico;
Or column raise, or sink the grot, But ne'er let nature be forgot.
Through fragrant shrubberies they rove,
But not a word was said of Love,
'Till they approach a basin's side, In whose transparent waters glide
The fish, who their bright forms display'd
In gold and silver scales array'd.
“I do not as Narcissus did, Of whom in classic tale we read,”
Syntax exclaim'd, with fond delight, “I view not in the mirror bright
My meagre self; a form divine Does in the liquid crystal shine.
Ah, Lady, and I feel it true, The shadow steals its charms from you!
Here would it stay when you were gone,
And thus be seen when you are flown,
Here would I ask a cot, and gaze
Through the bless'd remnant of my days.”
But on the vision too intent, O'er the green brink he fondly bent,
And sudden dash'd into the water,
While Ma'am ran off to hide her laughter,
And send her household to await The Doctor in his dripping state:
But the mirror was so shallow There was not room to sink or wallow;
And without aid he soon was seen Shaking his wet legs on the green:
But Pat his ready help applied,
And soon each moisten'd part was dried.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |