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 |  |
Thus as he reason'd to and fro, Not yet determin'd what to do,
He reach'd a pretty town, whose name Does not possess historic fame,
But boasts an inn which Syntax blest
For morning meal and welcome rest.
The wig, with all due skill, repair'd, The chin dismantled of its beard,
His whole exterior made as smart As could be done by Patrick's art,
He set off, with design to call, Ere the sun set, at Tulip-Hall,
And on the way his mind supply With gen'ral terms of Botany;
Call on his mem'ry to review Whate'er he once of Flora knew;
Then add sweet, sentimental bloom, A type of offerings yet to come,
And with such fragrant hope prepare A welcome from the flowery Fair.
Thus as he thought a voice behind,
Which seem'd to load the passing wind,
Exclaim'd—“What, Doctor, is it you?
My eyes, I thank them, tell me true:
And pray accept my solemn greeting, At such an unexpected meeting.”
Syntax replied, “The same receive, Which I to Doctor Julep give.”
—It turn'd out that their journey lay,
For sev'ral miles, the self-same way,
When the Physician thus began To tell his visit and its plan.
“Capias, the Lawyer, whom you know
Left business some few years ago:
In short he now has given up thinking
Of nought but eating and of drinking.
Nay once a fortnight 'tis at least, That after some redundant feast,
For me he in a hurry sends As one among his oldest friends,
To ease his overloaded paunch Of what remains of ham and haunch,
And to exert my utmost power His weaken'd stomach to restore;
But soon, alas, too soon I think, His food will be confin'd to drink,
When he must yield to his disease, And I shall lose his gen'rous fees;
For I am not asham'd to tell The Lawyer pays the Doctor well.
Forgot is his Attorney's trim, His wary tricks are chang'd to whim,
In stucco'd eating-room he dines, But takes his glass with all his wines,
And where to vary his regale, The cask pours forth the foaming ale;
For to his cellar he descends
And 'neath its vaults he treats his friends;
There the ever-moving glass Quickens the hours as they pass,
While the tale, the joke, the song, The Bacchanalian feast prolong.
There of his Vintage he's profuse, And e'en if Bacchus were to chuse,
Wherever he might chance to dine, With Capias he would take his wine,
O, how I wish you would attend, This visit to my jovial friend:
To him, dear Sir, you're not a stranger,
Nor will your virtue be in danger!
He'll kindly put you at your ease,
With him you'll do just what you please:
Nay, 'twill amuse you thus to see And hear, the strange variety.”
“You know I'm not so very nice,”
Said Syntax, “to pronounce it vice
When friends in mod'rate glasses join,
And cheer their heart with gen'rous wine;
Social love appears the best When seated at the friendly feast,
Nor can it wound a D.D.'s pride, When I've an M.D. by my side.
I'll therefore join this pleasant frolic, But, if I chance to get the cholic,
You must, my learned friend, agree, To cure the pain without a fee.”
This, by the Doctors twain, agreed,
Well-pleas'd they on their way proceed.
Capias, with smiles his guest receives,
And a loud, hearty welcome gives;
Nor did he cease repeated greeting
Till dinner came—and then to eating.
Not a word pass'd but when he boasted
The ven'son to a turn was roasted;
And of the dishes, as they came, He told their excellence and name.
The dinner o'er with thanks to Heaven
For all the various bounties given,
The Bacchanalian suite attend And to the cellar they descend,
In the vaulted cave benighted, Till by suspended lanterns lighted,
The colour'd blaze dispers'd the gloom Of the subterranean room.
—Syntax on all around him gaz'd, The more he saw, the more amaz'd;
Bottles on bottles seem'd to rise In ev'ry form, of ev'ry size,
And casks, of large and lesser shape,
Rich with the juice of ev'ry grape,
Were there in order due maintain'd By thirst luxurious to be drain'd.
—Syntax now felt himself inclin'd
T'indulge the impulse of his mind;
But this was not a time for thinking
'Mid such a fearful threat of drinking.
He reach'd a pretty town, whose name Does not possess historic fame,
But boasts an inn which Syntax blest
For morning meal and welcome rest.
The wig, with all due skill, repair'd, The chin dismantled of its beard,
His whole exterior made as smart As could be done by Patrick's art,
He set off, with design to call, Ere the sun set, at Tulip-Hall,
And on the way his mind supply With gen'ral terms of Botany;
Call on his mem'ry to review Whate'er he once of Flora knew;
Then add sweet, sentimental bloom, A type of offerings yet to come,
And with such fragrant hope prepare A welcome from the flowery Fair.
Thus as he thought a voice behind,
Which seem'd to load the passing wind,
Exclaim'd—“What, Doctor, is it you?
My eyes, I thank them, tell me true:
And pray accept my solemn greeting, At such an unexpected meeting.”
Syntax replied, “The same receive, Which I to Doctor Julep give.”
—It turn'd out that their journey lay,
For sev'ral miles, the self-same way,
When the Physician thus began To tell his visit and its plan.
“Capias, the Lawyer, whom you know
Left business some few years ago:
In short he now has given up thinking
Of nought but eating and of drinking.
305
For me he in a hurry sends As one among his oldest friends,
To ease his overloaded paunch Of what remains of ham and haunch,
And to exert my utmost power His weaken'd stomach to restore;
But soon, alas, too soon I think, His food will be confin'd to drink,
When he must yield to his disease, And I shall lose his gen'rous fees;
For I am not asham'd to tell The Lawyer pays the Doctor well.
Forgot is his Attorney's trim, His wary tricks are chang'd to whim,
In stucco'd eating-room he dines, But takes his glass with all his wines,
And where to vary his regale, The cask pours forth the foaming ale;
For to his cellar he descends
And 'neath its vaults he treats his friends;
There the ever-moving glass Quickens the hours as they pass,
While the tale, the joke, the song, The Bacchanalian feast prolong.
There of his Vintage he's profuse, And e'en if Bacchus were to chuse,
Wherever he might chance to dine, With Capias he would take his wine,
O, how I wish you would attend, This visit to my jovial friend:
To him, dear Sir, you're not a stranger,
Nor will your virtue be in danger!
He'll kindly put you at your ease,
With him you'll do just what you please:
Nay, 'twill amuse you thus to see And hear, the strange variety.”
“You know I'm not so very nice,”
Said Syntax, “to pronounce it vice
When friends in mod'rate glasses join,
And cheer their heart with gen'rous wine;
Social love appears the best When seated at the friendly feast,
Nor can it wound a D.D.'s pride, When I've an M.D. by my side.
I'll therefore join this pleasant frolic, But, if I chance to get the cholic,
You must, my learned friend, agree, To cure the pain without a fee.”
This, by the Doctors twain, agreed,
Well-pleas'd they on their way proceed.
Capias, with smiles his guest receives,
And a loud, hearty welcome gives;
Nor did he cease repeated greeting
Till dinner came—and then to eating.
Not a word pass'd but when he boasted
The ven'son to a turn was roasted;
And of the dishes, as they came, He told their excellence and name.
The dinner o'er with thanks to Heaven
For all the various bounties given,
The Bacchanalian suite attend And to the cellar they descend,
In the vaulted cave benighted, Till by suspended lanterns lighted,
The colour'd blaze dispers'd the gloom Of the subterranean room.
—Syntax on all around him gaz'd, The more he saw, the more amaz'd;
Bottles on bottles seem'd to rise In ev'ry form, of ev'ry size,
And casks, of large and lesser shape,
Rich with the juice of ev'ry grape,
Were there in order due maintain'd By thirst luxurious to be drain'd.
—Syntax now felt himself inclin'd
T'indulge the impulse of his mind;
306
'Mid such a fearful threat of drinking.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |