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 |  |
The dinner was a plenteous feast Where ev'ry varying dish was best,
And Bacchus in the realms above Ne'er furnish'd better wine for Jove.
Thus when he had his fill of both And all was mov'd off with the cloth,
Thought Syntax, “I'm not such a fool To let a dip my courage cool;
Besides, with Heaven's own vintage warm'd,
I feel that I am doubly arm'd,
And will not any longer wait, To try my chance and know my fate.”
But while he his best looks prepar'd To see what fortune might award,
He was address'd in gentle tone, And ask'd by Mrs. Omicron,
If by his logic he could prove Where was the real seat of Love;
She begg'd that philosophic spirit, Which Fame allow'd him to inherit,
To fix and settle her opinion As to its rights and its dominion.
—This was the topic which he sought
And such the doctrine which he taught.
“—Lucretius, now before me, says (A poet whom all lovers praise)
That love is seated in the liver,
That there the Boy exhausts his quiver;
While Ovid sings it is the heart In which he aims to dip his dart:
For me I know not how to trace it
Unless 'tis where you chuse to place it.”
“Pooh! pooh!” she said, “I'm grown so stupid,
As to forget the laws of Cupid;
Nay, having lov'd a husband once, I am become so great a dunce,
That now I think 'twould be in vain, Howe'er I strove—to love again.”
“Nonsense!” th'enliven'd sage replied,
“Take my experience for your guide:
No greater weakness than to mourn And weep beside a husband's urn:
Believe me 'tis an idle whim When you've your duty done to him,
Not such an useless grief to smother And do that duty to another.
Still, while the form of beauty lives,
And the cheeks' roseate glow survives:
While sympathetic feelings warm, And hope and fear may wake alarm,
It is the sober call of reason To cull the fruitage of the season,
To love again, again to coo, And wed—as you and I might do.”
And Bacchus in the realms above Ne'er furnish'd better wine for Jove.
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Thought Syntax, “I'm not such a fool To let a dip my courage cool;
Besides, with Heaven's own vintage warm'd,
I feel that I am doubly arm'd,
And will not any longer wait, To try my chance and know my fate.”
But while he his best looks prepar'd To see what fortune might award,
He was address'd in gentle tone, And ask'd by Mrs. Omicron,
If by his logic he could prove Where was the real seat of Love;
She begg'd that philosophic spirit, Which Fame allow'd him to inherit,
To fix and settle her opinion As to its rights and its dominion.
—This was the topic which he sought
And such the doctrine which he taught.
“—Lucretius, now before me, says (A poet whom all lovers praise)
That love is seated in the liver,
That there the Boy exhausts his quiver;
While Ovid sings it is the heart In which he aims to dip his dart:
For me I know not how to trace it
Unless 'tis where you chuse to place it.”
“Pooh! pooh!” she said, “I'm grown so stupid,
As to forget the laws of Cupid;
Nay, having lov'd a husband once, I am become so great a dunce,
That now I think 'twould be in vain, Howe'er I strove—to love again.”
“Nonsense!” th'enliven'd sage replied,
“Take my experience for your guide:
No greater weakness than to mourn And weep beside a husband's urn:
Believe me 'tis an idle whim When you've your duty done to him,
Not such an useless grief to smother And do that duty to another.
Still, while the form of beauty lives,
And the cheeks' roseate glow survives:
While sympathetic feelings warm, And hope and fear may wake alarm,
It is the sober call of reason To cull the fruitage of the season,
To love again, again to coo, And wed—as you and I might do.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |