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 |  |
Syntax, in deep, and pensive mood,
Tow'rds London now his way pursued:
The eastern sky involv'd in cloud
Did from his eye the sun-beams shroud,
And not one active darting ray Gave spirit to the early day:
While the mist, hanging o'er the brow Of woody upland, sunk below
Amid the smoke, rais'd on the gale,
From hamlet cottage in the vale.—
No lark was heard, ascending high, To give his carol to the sky;
Nor did the blackbird or the thrush Make vocal the green, dewy bush:
The rooks, departing from the wood,
On the high branches cawing stood,
Whose noisy notes alone were heard,
With raven's croak, ill-omen'd bird,
And gloomy nature's self gave warning Of a dull, uninspiring morning,
At least, of thoughts alive and gay,
Which sometimes flow from radiant day.
What was the cause doth not appear;
Whether oppressive atmosphere,
Or that the pillow had not blest The Doctor with his usual rest;
Or whether it was fancy's whim, (Which seldom rul'd or troubled him,)
He was not in his usual trim;
So that he, as he ponder'd o'er The dark side of his nuptial Tour,
Had half a mind to turn again To the green shades of Sommerden,
And be contented with the good Which he might find in widowhood.
“Since I left home,” he mutt'ring said,
“What to my wish has been display'd?
The high-flown fair whom I have sought
Did not awake one tender thought:
Such sense mix'd up with so much folly
At times would make me melancholy:—
They might, perchance, an hour, a day, Contrive to pass in smiles away,
But Fortune I should ne'er forgive, If I with such were doom'd to live.
—It is not that a woman's mind May not be of superior kind,
Or that its powers may not be fraught
With views enlarg'd and depth of thought,
Or that a lady's studious hours May not have treasur'd learning's stores:
I know that many have been known, Who in the realms of science shone,
Whose learning, judgment, critic taste,
Have seldom been by men surpass'd,
And yet who never soar'd above The line where duty bade them move,
And were not seen to give offence
To that prime virtue, Common-Sense.
But these are form'd for higher life, And not to be a parson's wife,
Unless by fortune he had been A bishop, or at least a dean.
Whose dames, thus living at their ease,
May chuse what pastime they shall please.”
The clouds now broke and many a ray
Of sunshine darted on the day;
When, as inspiring Phœbus shone,
The Doctor chang'd his grumbling tone,
While a good breakfast had the merit To quicken his dejected spirit;
And now his homeward way to trace
He thought would be downright disgrace;
That perseverance was a feature
Which aggrandis'd our common nature:
And no great act he could relate, Of ancient or of modern date,
But to that virtue did refer Its energetic character.
Thus, without further doubt or fear, He was resolv'd to persevere.—
Nay, as his spirits 'gan to rise, He ventur'd to soliloquise,
And did his waken'd hopes express,
Of what he thought he might possess.
“LONDON is the general mart,
The warehouse vast that does impart
Whate'er the life of man requires, To minister to its desires:
But mine's a search of tender feeling;—
Those articles I cannot deal in
Which demand a golden treasure To furnish out luxurious pleasure,
To gratify each active sense, Or love of proud magnificence;
These come not in my humble view,
They are not what my thoughts pursue:
I've but a faithful heart to offer, And a warm parson's home to proffer,
Where a fond pair may love and live.
Though this is all I have to give,
Yet I shall think it rather hard If, as my errant toil's reward,
I cannot find a Ma'am or Miss Somewhere in this metropolis,
Who may indulge a secret wish To dip her sop in Hymen's dish;
Who'd like to leave its noisy riot, To live with me in rural quiet.
But after all if I should fail, And all my hostile stars prevail,
I will not my false hopes lament, But teach my mind to be content,
Contrive to cheer my widow'd life Without the blessing of a wife,
And while I live, I ne'er again Will leave the woods of Sommerden.”
Such were the thoughts from day to day,
Which beguil'd his untroubled way,
'Till rising above the cloud of smoke
St. Paul's Dome on the prospect broke;
And, pacing on, he enter'd town By the north side of Mary-bonne.
A proper inn he sought of course,
Where there was food for man and horse,
'Till he could find a decent station In point of air and situation,
As it might most convenient seem, And fitted to his leading scheme.
Thus as he trotted through a street,
Whose houses seem'd compact and neat,
Apartments to be let was seen Upon a door of brightest green,
And underneath a name had place, As dealer in fine foreign lace:
The curtain'd windows caught the eye,
With their gay, festoon'd drapery,
And in balconies there were seen Flowers and plants of ever-green,
Where the geraniums blossom'd red And myrtles rose from mossy bed,
While all, as far as he could see, Appeared to suit him to a T.
—He thought what trouble it would save,
If here he could a lodging have;
So he knock'd smartly at the door And was admitted to explore
The diff'rent rooms by a fat lady,
Who certainly was past her heigh-day,
But if time had destroy'd her figure,
Her tongue retain'd its pristine vigour;
Thus she so manag'd to succeed By flatt'ring chat, that he agreed
No other residence to seek, And took th'apartments for a week.
He answer'd to the usual claim, And paid a pound-note to the dame;
Deliver'd his portmanteau there, To the old lady's promis'd care,
Then took his leave with spirits light And promis'd to be there at night.
Pat too receiv'd commands to find A liv'ry stable to his mind,
Where both the travell'd nags and he Might find due hospitality;
And bade him keep it in his pate To be with him next morn at eight.
Tow'rds London now his way pursued:
The eastern sky involv'd in cloud
Did from his eye the sun-beams shroud,
And not one active darting ray Gave spirit to the early day:
While the mist, hanging o'er the brow Of woody upland, sunk below
Amid the smoke, rais'd on the gale,
From hamlet cottage in the vale.—
No lark was heard, ascending high, To give his carol to the sky;
Nor did the blackbird or the thrush Make vocal the green, dewy bush:
The rooks, departing from the wood,
On the high branches cawing stood,
Whose noisy notes alone were heard,
With raven's croak, ill-omen'd bird,
And gloomy nature's self gave warning Of a dull, uninspiring morning,
At least, of thoughts alive and gay,
Which sometimes flow from radiant day.
333
Whether oppressive atmosphere,
Or that the pillow had not blest The Doctor with his usual rest;
Or whether it was fancy's whim, (Which seldom rul'd or troubled him,)
He was not in his usual trim;
So that he, as he ponder'd o'er The dark side of his nuptial Tour,
Had half a mind to turn again To the green shades of Sommerden,
And be contented with the good Which he might find in widowhood.
“Since I left home,” he mutt'ring said,
“What to my wish has been display'd?
The high-flown fair whom I have sought
Did not awake one tender thought:
Such sense mix'd up with so much folly
At times would make me melancholy:—
They might, perchance, an hour, a day, Contrive to pass in smiles away,
But Fortune I should ne'er forgive, If I with such were doom'd to live.
—It is not that a woman's mind May not be of superior kind,
Or that its powers may not be fraught
With views enlarg'd and depth of thought,
Or that a lady's studious hours May not have treasur'd learning's stores:
I know that many have been known, Who in the realms of science shone,
Whose learning, judgment, critic taste,
Have seldom been by men surpass'd,
And yet who never soar'd above The line where duty bade them move,
And were not seen to give offence
To that prime virtue, Common-Sense.
But these are form'd for higher life, And not to be a parson's wife,
Unless by fortune he had been A bishop, or at least a dean.
Whose dames, thus living at their ease,
May chuse what pastime they shall please.”
The clouds now broke and many a ray
Of sunshine darted on the day;
When, as inspiring Phœbus shone,
The Doctor chang'd his grumbling tone,
While a good breakfast had the merit To quicken his dejected spirit;
And now his homeward way to trace
He thought would be downright disgrace;
That perseverance was a feature
Which aggrandis'd our common nature:
And no great act he could relate, Of ancient or of modern date,
But to that virtue did refer Its energetic character.
Thus, without further doubt or fear, He was resolv'd to persevere.—
Nay, as his spirits 'gan to rise, He ventur'd to soliloquise,
And did his waken'd hopes express,
Of what he thought he might possess.
“LONDON is the general mart,
The warehouse vast that does impart
Whate'er the life of man requires, To minister to its desires:
But mine's a search of tender feeling;—
Those articles I cannot deal in
Which demand a golden treasure To furnish out luxurious pleasure,
334
These come not in my humble view,
They are not what my thoughts pursue:
I've but a faithful heart to offer, And a warm parson's home to proffer,
Where a fond pair may love and live.
Though this is all I have to give,
Yet I shall think it rather hard If, as my errant toil's reward,
I cannot find a Ma'am or Miss Somewhere in this metropolis,
Who may indulge a secret wish To dip her sop in Hymen's dish;
Who'd like to leave its noisy riot, To live with me in rural quiet.
But after all if I should fail, And all my hostile stars prevail,
I will not my false hopes lament, But teach my mind to be content,
Contrive to cheer my widow'd life Without the blessing of a wife,
And while I live, I ne'er again Will leave the woods of Sommerden.”
Such were the thoughts from day to day,
Which beguil'd his untroubled way,
'Till rising above the cloud of smoke
St. Paul's Dome on the prospect broke;
And, pacing on, he enter'd town By the north side of Mary-bonne.
A proper inn he sought of course,
Where there was food for man and horse,
'Till he could find a decent station In point of air and situation,
As it might most convenient seem, And fitted to his leading scheme.
Thus as he trotted through a street,
Whose houses seem'd compact and neat,
Apartments to be let was seen Upon a door of brightest green,
And underneath a name had place, As dealer in fine foreign lace:
The curtain'd windows caught the eye,
With their gay, festoon'd drapery,
And in balconies there were seen Flowers and plants of ever-green,
Where the geraniums blossom'd red And myrtles rose from mossy bed,
While all, as far as he could see, Appeared to suit him to a T.
—He thought what trouble it would save,
If here he could a lodging have;
So he knock'd smartly at the door And was admitted to explore
The diff'rent rooms by a fat lady,
Who certainly was past her heigh-day,
But if time had destroy'd her figure,
Her tongue retain'd its pristine vigour;
Thus she so manag'd to succeed By flatt'ring chat, that he agreed
No other residence to seek, And took th'apartments for a week.
He answer'd to the usual claim, And paid a pound-note to the dame;
Deliver'd his portmanteau there, To the old lady's promis'd care,
Then took his leave with spirits light And promis'd to be there at night.
Pat too receiv'd commands to find A liv'ry stable to his mind,
Where both the travell'd nags and he Might find due hospitality;
And bade him keep it in his pate To be with him next morn at eight.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |