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 Doctor, not by intuition, But by a feeling call'd suspicion,
Was on her subject led to fear That the new doctrine he should hear
Might require a cautious sense, To give his thoughts without offence.
Oft with Blue-stockings upon earth Reason he found a source of mirth;
And e'en when Fancy play'd her tricks He could a pleas'd attention fix:
But when Blue-stockings please to soar,
Where none had ever been before,
He rather trembled at the height
Which mark'd this lady's promis'd flight.
When such a one her notions shrouds In regions far above the clouds,
While she does her pure æther quaff,
He might not check a sudden laugh,
Which certainly would not agree With the most calm philosophy;
And thus whate'er she might discover,
He wish'd the dang'rous trial over.
Hence did he frame each future thought
To be with proper answers fraught,
And thus he hop'd he was prepar'd, When ask'd, to offer his award.
—Such was his aim, and then he heard
The wonders which she now preferr'd.
Lady Macnight.—
“You have explain'd in language clear
Each planet's course as they appear,
As they appointed are to run In their own orbits round the sun;
You travell'd in your airy car To visit ev'ry ruling star,
And did not, for a moment, err In marking their true character,
Nor in assigning each its place In the immensity of space:
But here you stop and nothing know
Beyond the glasses' Raree-Show.
Men, whose renown'd and learned name Irradiates the field of fame,
With all their genius to explore, Have indeed told us something more.
When Nature's laws lay hid in night,
Newton unveil'd new rays of light,
And gave the wond'ring world to see, By his sublime Geometry,
Those hidden powers which he has shown To act in Nature's unison:
But of those orbs which deck the sky,
Tho' view'd by his pervading eye, He gave no local history.
Nor did he e'er pretend to tell
What Beings might within them dwell,
Their forms, their natures and their speech,
To what perfection they might reach,
And how their systematic powers, Differ from this same world of ours:
What are their plants and flowers and trees,
If they have running streams and seas,
And whether fleeting time appears Like ours divided into years,
And if their years by lunar powers
Are form'd of months and days and hours:
Whether their life concludes by death, Or if men die for want of breath,
And if to their fond hope is given Another world, a future Heaven.
What do I gain, when I but see These planets' eccentricity,
Unless my reason could pervade
For what wise purpose they were made?
—You'll laugh no doubt, and say I dream,
If I should now unfold my scheme,
And think, perhaps, that I may vie With Bedlam in its lunacy.
But I, dear Sir, am not so bent Upon my mind's experiment,
As to look grave if my excursion Should minister to your diversion;
Nor does the thought make me uneasy
That some have fancied I was crazy.
—While my poor dear Sir John was living,
Whose soul, I trust, is now in Heaven,
Some booby, in a long hiatus, Urg'd him to burn my Apparatus:
When he said, ‘No!—While she maintains
Each due decorum, while she gains
Their warm regard to whom she's known,
And who her smiling friendship own;
While I her fond affection share And feel her faithful, tender care;
While she to household rule attends,
And makes home pleasant to my friends,
What care I, as at early morn, I urge the chase, with hound and horn,
Or cheer at night each jovial soul With the full glass and flowing bowl,
If she employs her eager eye To trace the wonders of the sky!
Yes wives there are, and not a few, Who a more idle course pursue,
Nor is there one of those who shine The votaries of fashion's shrine
Whom I would e'er exchange for mine.’
—Thus did my dear lamented Knight Set the intruding fellow right:
And much I hope, good Sir, that you
May think my husband's praises true;
And they, I trust, who know me well Will the same friendly story tell.”
Syntax.—
“They who have gravely trod the round
Of gen'ral science must have found
That trifles, nay, that whims have led,
When floating in a thinking head,
To quicken genius as it tries The course of new discoveries:
E'en accident has made a stir In brains of the philosopher.
A codling falling from a tree Might fix the point of gravity:
Or house-maid's twirling of a mop Might into Newton's cranium pop
The principle, by which was found Whether the poles are flat or round.
And why, my Lady, may not you Strike from your study something new,
And, what's still better, useful too?”
Lady Macnight.—
Syntax.—
“Nay Madam, you have gone as far,
Riding a cock-horse on a star,
Nay farther than has yet been known By any Genius but your own:
—Indeed, I must admire your fancy, In this star-gazing necromancy;
For you have nat'ralis'd your sphere, As I could ne'er expect to hear.—
Though with the plan I can't agree, I thank you for its drollery;
And though I cannot well allow The principle which you avow,
Your story, Shakespeare gives the hint,
Though strange, has much of matter in't.”
Lady Macnight.—
“A few words more and I have done
With these attendants on the sun.
—In the bright orb that's known to claim
Venus as its establish'd name,
I shall pursue my arduous way In the conjectures of the day,
That Beauty is the height sublime Of Virtue in that genial clime,
Whose light and heat, within its zone,
Bears no resemblance to our own;
And the grand crime they there confess, Is what we here term Ugliness.
The good and ill which there prevail Is measur'd by a settled scale
Among its people, as each feature Is favour'd or deform'd by nature;
And all the value of their duty Is form'd by more or less of beauty;
And thus it is that I pervade Its moral light, its moral shade.
—The flowing hair, the well-turn'd brow,
The fine form'd arches just below, And skin that vies with driven snow:
The bright, the soft and sleepy eye, The two-fold rows of ivory;
The pouting, ruby-colour'd lips, Where sweetness its own nectar sips;
The cheeks with rosy blush o'erspread, And dimples sinking in the red;
The neck that doth the bosom join By a scarce seen but graceful line,
While the firm semi-orbs below Heave with a gentle to and fro;
And arms whose less'ning round extends
To the fine, taper fingers' ends:—
—Such is the form, and such the grace,
That's virtue in the female race;
While man's proportions are the same, But suited to a stronger frame.
Each virtue is, and more or less They virtuous are, who most possess;
While the vicious nature lies Proportion'd by its contraries.
Therefore it is that I suppose The squinting eye, the wide-spread nose,
The yawning mouth, that may appear
Stretching athwart from ear to ear;
The rising back, a sad mischance, And stomach's rude protuberance,
Are crimes which, by their law's intent,
Receive proportion'd punishment;
While ugliness in ev'ry sense, Must be a capital offence;
And they will be condemn'd to die,
Whose crime's complete deformity.
So much, dear Doctor, for my Venus,
And what as yet has pass'd between us.’
—She paus'd—but when she 'gan to tell Of Mercury, the dinner-bell
Brought her fine fancies to a close; And as the Rev'rend Doctor rose
He said, “I here beg leave to mention
How much I'm pleas'd with your invention,
But still I think it might be right
To calm its course and check its flight,
Nor let it wander out of season But yield it to the rule of reason;
And instead of its commanding, Let it obey, your understanding;
Consult your own superior sense, And gratify your pride from thence:
For all is known we ought to know Of things above, or things below,
'Till other Boyles and Newtons rise
T'unveil dark Nature's mysteries.
I do not strictly mean to say You throw your studious hours away,
Or that your star-work is misspent, For still the pastime's innocent;
But yet I think that à la lettre, You might employ those hours better:
Nor do I wish to read a lecture Upon the errors of conjecture,
Which may refinement's thoughts expose
To smiling friends and scoffing foes;
I only ask you to receive The friendly counsel that I give:
If to the Planets you must soar, Be silent, wonder and adore.
Though they're in diff'rent stations plac'd In the immeasurable waste,
Though their ends may not be the same,
Each is to answer one great aim,
And with some local means endued, To aid the universal good,
Will'd by the Power whose plastic hand
Doth all immensity command,
And whose vast, universal sway Creation's countless worlds obey.”
He spoke, and in due order pass'd,
To things more suited to his taste.
Indeed, he was well pleas'd to see A change in the philosophy;
And with his knife and fork to reason On ev'ry dainty dish in season,
And make his choice 'tween wrong and right,
As guided by his appetite.
At length the plenteous dinner o'er, As he did in his goblet pour
The sparkling wine, he begg'd to give, A toast she surely would receive.
“Here's to the health of friends above,
I care not in what star they move,
Or whatsoe'er their modes may be;—
May they have din'd as well as we!”—
Was on her subject led to fear That the new doctrine he should hear
327
Oft with Blue-stockings upon earth Reason he found a source of mirth;
And e'en when Fancy play'd her tricks He could a pleas'd attention fix:
But when Blue-stockings please to soar,
Where none had ever been before,
He rather trembled at the height
Which mark'd this lady's promis'd flight.
When such a one her notions shrouds In regions far above the clouds,
While she does her pure æther quaff,
He might not check a sudden laugh,
Which certainly would not agree With the most calm philosophy;
And thus whate'er she might discover,
He wish'd the dang'rous trial over.
Hence did he frame each future thought
To be with proper answers fraught,
And thus he hop'd he was prepar'd, When ask'd, to offer his award.
—Such was his aim, and then he heard
The wonders which she now preferr'd.
Lady Macnight.—
“You have explain'd in language clear
Each planet's course as they appear,
As they appointed are to run In their own orbits round the sun;
You travell'd in your airy car To visit ev'ry ruling star,
And did not, for a moment, err In marking their true character,
Nor in assigning each its place In the immensity of space:
But here you stop and nothing know
Beyond the glasses' Raree-Show.
Men, whose renown'd and learned name Irradiates the field of fame,
With all their genius to explore, Have indeed told us something more.
When Nature's laws lay hid in night,
Newton unveil'd new rays of light,
And gave the wond'ring world to see, By his sublime Geometry,
Those hidden powers which he has shown To act in Nature's unison:
But of those orbs which deck the sky,
Tho' view'd by his pervading eye, He gave no local history.
Nor did he e'er pretend to tell
What Beings might within them dwell,
Their forms, their natures and their speech,
To what perfection they might reach,
And how their systematic powers, Differ from this same world of ours:
What are their plants and flowers and trees,
If they have running streams and seas,
And whether fleeting time appears Like ours divided into years,
And if their years by lunar powers
Are form'd of months and days and hours:
Whether their life concludes by death, Or if men die for want of breath,
And if to their fond hope is given Another world, a future Heaven.
What do I gain, when I but see These planets' eccentricity,
Unless my reason could pervade
For what wise purpose they were made?
—You'll laugh no doubt, and say I dream,
If I should now unfold my scheme,
328
But I, dear Sir, am not so bent Upon my mind's experiment,
As to look grave if my excursion Should minister to your diversion;
Nor does the thought make me uneasy
That some have fancied I was crazy.
—While my poor dear Sir John was living,
Whose soul, I trust, is now in Heaven,
Some booby, in a long hiatus, Urg'd him to burn my Apparatus:
When he said, ‘No!—While she maintains
Each due decorum, while she gains
Their warm regard to whom she's known,
And who her smiling friendship own;
While I her fond affection share And feel her faithful, tender care;
While she to household rule attends,
And makes home pleasant to my friends,
What care I, as at early morn, I urge the chase, with hound and horn,
Or cheer at night each jovial soul With the full glass and flowing bowl,
If she employs her eager eye To trace the wonders of the sky!
Yes wives there are, and not a few, Who a more idle course pursue,
Nor is there one of those who shine The votaries of fashion's shrine
Whom I would e'er exchange for mine.’
—Thus did my dear lamented Knight Set the intruding fellow right:
And much I hope, good Sir, that you
May think my husband's praises true;
And they, I trust, who know me well Will the same friendly story tell.”
Syntax.—
“They who have gravely trod the round
Of gen'ral science must have found
That trifles, nay, that whims have led,
When floating in a thinking head,
To quicken genius as it tries The course of new discoveries:
E'en accident has made a stir In brains of the philosopher.
A codling falling from a tree Might fix the point of gravity:
Or house-maid's twirling of a mop Might into Newton's cranium pop
The principle, by which was found Whether the poles are flat or round.
And why, my Lady, may not you Strike from your study something new,
And, what's still better, useful too?”
Lady Macnight.—
“With that benignant lib'ral spirit,
Which I well know that you inherit,
I'm sure your justice will not swerve From any praise I may deserve:
Nor will you with harsh rigour blame If I attempt too high an aim,
And strive those regions to explore As none have ever done before,
But call me back to reason's lore;
And, if strange wanderings appear, Restore me to my proper sphere.
Which I well know that you inherit,
I'm sure your justice will not swerve From any praise I may deserve:
Nor will you with harsh rigour blame If I attempt too high an aim,
And strive those regions to explore As none have ever done before,
But call me back to reason's lore;
And, if strange wanderings appear, Restore me to my proper sphere.
“Now, in due order, to proceed, Philosophers have all agreed,
That to each planet, in its sphere, Our earth rolls on in prospect clear,
And, in great Nature's solar scheme,
They're seen by us, as we by them.
Nay from analogy 'tis thought, Though not by fix'd experience taught,
That these are worlds and though unknown
May bear a likeness to our own,
Peopled with beings who fulfil, Like us, the Almighty Maker's will,
To answer, in their destin'd station, The wise design of their creation.
And now you'll hear my cunning guess
At what these several orbs possess,
With every animated feature Of what I call their reas'ning nature,
As the prime power that may controul The active impulse of the whole.
—Whether I reason from its name, Or angry redness of its frame,
It matters not how they refer To stamp its native character;
I still shall dare suppose that Mars Is the continual seat of wars;
Not of arm'd military bands, Whom the fierce, bloody sword commands,
But, from the beggar to the king, Contest must be for ev'ry thing;
Nay for a fortune or a rattle That there must be a constant battle;
That hourly, individual strife Is the grand principle of life.
No helm or breast-plate do they wear,
Nor do they sword or jav'lin bear,
But all their policy consists In a concomitance of fists;
In the sharp, nimble fingers' raps, Or the broad palm's redundant slaps.
—They cannot get a steak to eat Unless they battle for the meat;
Nor can their statesmen get a place
'Till they have fought it face to face.
But then I'd have it understood They never cause discharge of blood:
Whatever blows the parties give Whatever bruises they receive,
A lasting pain they cannot feel, And all without a plaister heal.
As bound by nature to oppose, Friendship's an interchange of blows.
Fond lovers in their am'rous greeting
Know not of kissing or entreating,
'Tis done by scratching and by beating;
And love cannot be better shown Than by a rude squeeze and a frown.
—Children and youth I shall suppose Have not the privilege of blows,
Nor gain permission to engage 'Till they can prove they are of age.
—Of virtue contest is the source, And moral rectitude is force;
While he who does the most contest Is of the sons of Mars the best.
—Thus he, I'm ready to suppose, Who ne'er receives nor offers blows,
Is an offender 'gainst the laws, And subject to the hangman's paws,
Or sentenc'd to some dismal place
'Mong criminals who keep the peace;
And as we do our convicts see Depriv'd of cheerful liberty,
They're chain'd in some dark cell below,
'Rest of the joy to strike a blow.—
—So far, so good—their power of speech
At present is beyond my reach:
Morals and manners form the whole
That's subject to my mind's controul,
And farther, Doctor, I confess, It is not in my power to guess:
What my search may hereafter do, As I my vent'rous course pursue,
I cannot say;—but what say you?”
That to each planet, in its sphere, Our earth rolls on in prospect clear,
And, in great Nature's solar scheme,
They're seen by us, as we by them.
Nay from analogy 'tis thought, Though not by fix'd experience taught,
That these are worlds and though unknown
May bear a likeness to our own,
Peopled with beings who fulfil, Like us, the Almighty Maker's will,
329
And now you'll hear my cunning guess
At what these several orbs possess,
With every animated feature Of what I call their reas'ning nature,
As the prime power that may controul The active impulse of the whole.
—Whether I reason from its name, Or angry redness of its frame,
It matters not how they refer To stamp its native character;
I still shall dare suppose that Mars Is the continual seat of wars;
Not of arm'd military bands, Whom the fierce, bloody sword commands,
But, from the beggar to the king, Contest must be for ev'ry thing;
Nay for a fortune or a rattle That there must be a constant battle;
That hourly, individual strife Is the grand principle of life.
No helm or breast-plate do they wear,
Nor do they sword or jav'lin bear,
But all their policy consists In a concomitance of fists;
In the sharp, nimble fingers' raps, Or the broad palm's redundant slaps.
—They cannot get a steak to eat Unless they battle for the meat;
Nor can their statesmen get a place
'Till they have fought it face to face.
But then I'd have it understood They never cause discharge of blood:
Whatever blows the parties give Whatever bruises they receive,
A lasting pain they cannot feel, And all without a plaister heal.
As bound by nature to oppose, Friendship's an interchange of blows.
Fond lovers in their am'rous greeting
Know not of kissing or entreating,
'Tis done by scratching and by beating;
And love cannot be better shown Than by a rude squeeze and a frown.
—Children and youth I shall suppose Have not the privilege of blows,
Nor gain permission to engage 'Till they can prove they are of age.
—Of virtue contest is the source, And moral rectitude is force;
While he who does the most contest Is of the sons of Mars the best.
—Thus he, I'm ready to suppose, Who ne'er receives nor offers blows,
Is an offender 'gainst the laws, And subject to the hangman's paws,
Or sentenc'd to some dismal place
'Mong criminals who keep the peace;
And as we do our convicts see Depriv'd of cheerful liberty,
They're chain'd in some dark cell below,
'Rest of the joy to strike a blow.—
—So far, so good—their power of speech
At present is beyond my reach:
Morals and manners form the whole
That's subject to my mind's controul,
And farther, Doctor, I confess, It is not in my power to guess:
What my search may hereafter do, As I my vent'rous course pursue,
I cannot say;—but what say you?”
Syntax.—
“Nay Madam, you have gone as far,
Riding a cock-horse on a star,
Nay farther than has yet been known By any Genius but your own:
—Indeed, I must admire your fancy, In this star-gazing necromancy;
For you have nat'ralis'd your sphere, As I could ne'er expect to hear.—
Though with the plan I can't agree, I thank you for its drollery;
330
Your story, Shakespeare gives the hint,
Though strange, has much of matter in't.”
Lady Macnight.—
“A few words more and I have done
With these attendants on the sun.
—In the bright orb that's known to claim
Venus as its establish'd name,
I shall pursue my arduous way In the conjectures of the day,
That Beauty is the height sublime Of Virtue in that genial clime,
Whose light and heat, within its zone,
Bears no resemblance to our own;
And the grand crime they there confess, Is what we here term Ugliness.
The good and ill which there prevail Is measur'd by a settled scale
Among its people, as each feature Is favour'd or deform'd by nature;
And all the value of their duty Is form'd by more or less of beauty;
And thus it is that I pervade Its moral light, its moral shade.
—The flowing hair, the well-turn'd brow,
The fine form'd arches just below, And skin that vies with driven snow:
The bright, the soft and sleepy eye, The two-fold rows of ivory;
The pouting, ruby-colour'd lips, Where sweetness its own nectar sips;
The cheeks with rosy blush o'erspread, And dimples sinking in the red;
The neck that doth the bosom join By a scarce seen but graceful line,
While the firm semi-orbs below Heave with a gentle to and fro;
And arms whose less'ning round extends
To the fine, taper fingers' ends:—
—Such is the form, and such the grace,
That's virtue in the female race;
While man's proportions are the same, But suited to a stronger frame.
Each virtue is, and more or less They virtuous are, who most possess;
While the vicious nature lies Proportion'd by its contraries.
Therefore it is that I suppose The squinting eye, the wide-spread nose,
The yawning mouth, that may appear
Stretching athwart from ear to ear;
The rising back, a sad mischance, And stomach's rude protuberance,
Are crimes which, by their law's intent,
Receive proportion'd punishment;
While ugliness in ev'ry sense, Must be a capital offence;
And they will be condemn'd to die,
Whose crime's complete deformity.
So much, dear Doctor, for my Venus,
And what as yet has pass'd between us.’
—She paus'd—but when she 'gan to tell Of Mercury, the dinner-bell
Brought her fine fancies to a close; And as the Rev'rend Doctor rose
He said, “I here beg leave to mention
How much I'm pleas'd with your invention,
But still I think it might be right
To calm its course and check its flight,
Nor let it wander out of season But yield it to the rule of reason;
And instead of its commanding, Let it obey, your understanding;
Consult your own superior sense, And gratify your pride from thence:
For all is known we ought to know Of things above, or things below,
331
T'unveil dark Nature's mysteries.
I do not strictly mean to say You throw your studious hours away,
Or that your star-work is misspent, For still the pastime's innocent;
But yet I think that à la lettre, You might employ those hours better:
Nor do I wish to read a lecture Upon the errors of conjecture,
Which may refinement's thoughts expose
To smiling friends and scoffing foes;
I only ask you to receive The friendly counsel that I give:
If to the Planets you must soar, Be silent, wonder and adore.
Though they're in diff'rent stations plac'd In the immeasurable waste,
Though their ends may not be the same,
Each is to answer one great aim,
And with some local means endued, To aid the universal good,
Will'd by the Power whose plastic hand
Doth all immensity command,
And whose vast, universal sway Creation's countless worlds obey.”
He spoke, and in due order pass'd,
To things more suited to his taste.
Indeed, he was well pleas'd to see A change in the philosophy;
And with his knife and fork to reason On ev'ry dainty dish in season,
And make his choice 'tween wrong and right,
As guided by his appetite.
At length the plenteous dinner o'er, As he did in his goblet pour
The sparkling wine, he begg'd to give, A toast she surely would receive.
“Here's to the health of friends above,
I care not in what star they move,
Or whatsoe'er their modes may be;—
May they have din'd as well as we!”—
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |