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 now employ'd his pen, In letters kind to Sommerden;
With feelings rather grave than gay He pass'd a sentimental day:
Though a late evening hour was cheer'd,
When Vellum's smiling face appear'd.
They smok'd their pipes and chatted o'er
The topics of the passing hour.
At length 'twas said; “I here have brought,
As matter for your future thought,
A written paper that contains What I propose as mutual gains,
Which will, as you may plainly see, Transfer your manuscript to me.”
Syntax the paper keenly ey'd, And thus without reserve replied:
“I own your very liberal feelings,
My friend, in all our former dealings,
And I'm content, I must avow, With what you're pleas'd to offer now;
And when I throw into account Your kindness, with its full amount,
What I expected to receive Is less than you propose to give.”
—The solemn contract thus agreed, Without delay in word and deed,
Old Vellum, when away he went, Left Syntax, like himself, content.
—The literary business done, And the pleas'd Doctor now alone,
On what was pass'd in accents grave
His candour thus its judgment gave.
“—He acted with a tradesman's care,
But all I've seen was right and fair,
And I in justice must commend His conduct as a civil friend;
And should I hear abuse of Vellum,
I would in strong expressions tell 'em
This reputable man of letters Is just and gen'rous as his betters.”
With feelings rather grave than gay He pass'd a sentimental day:
Though a late evening hour was cheer'd,
When Vellum's smiling face appear'd.
They smok'd their pipes and chatted o'er
The topics of the passing hour.
At length 'twas said; “I here have brought,
As matter for your future thought,
A written paper that contains What I propose as mutual gains,
Which will, as you may plainly see, Transfer your manuscript to me.”
Syntax the paper keenly ey'd, And thus without reserve replied:
349
My friend, in all our former dealings,
And I'm content, I must avow, With what you're pleas'd to offer now;
And when I throw into account Your kindness, with its full amount,
What I expected to receive Is less than you propose to give.”
—The solemn contract thus agreed, Without delay in word and deed,
Old Vellum, when away he went, Left Syntax, like himself, content.
—The literary business done, And the pleas'd Doctor now alone,
On what was pass'd in accents grave
His candour thus its judgment gave.
“—He acted with a tradesman's care,
But all I've seen was right and fair,
And I in justice must commend His conduct as a civil friend;
And should I hear abuse of Vellum,
I would in strong expressions tell 'em
This reputable man of letters Is just and gen'rous as his betters.”
Next morning as he calmly took His coffee, poring o'er a book,
A letter from Ma'am Briskit came, That did his quick attention claim.
He broke the seal, then rubb'd his head,
And thus aloud the epistle read:—
And thoughts arose unthought before:
Nay strange suspicions now began To seize upon the inner man;
And ere he could arrange his view Of what it now were best to do,
About the door a certain stir Announc'd a two-fold visitor.
The elder said, “Sir, if you please, Permit me to present my niece.”
But the prim lady scarce had spoke,
When, in a voice like raven's croak,
Another said, “I here attend, As counsellor to this my friend,
Who for your sake would feel a pride In laying widow's weeds aside.”
Another at that moment came, A somewhat of a dashing dame:
“My daughter, Sir, I here present, The excess of all accomplishment.”
—Syntax observing on each face A certain smother of grimace,
“Pat, I command you keep the door, Nor entrance give to any more,”
He then exclaim'd, “and now I pray,
What, ladies fair, have you to say?”
—In a strange kind of bustling fuss,
They in succession answer'd thus:
“—I am first cousin to a Lord,
And therefore claim your earliest word.”
“My niece is of superior age, And should the first your ear engage,
“—My child is youngest of the three,
As at a glance, Sir, you may see,
And if you 'bide by Love's decorum,
She, Doctor, should be heard before 'em.”
“—Ladies,” he said, “I plainly see
The tricks that you would play with me.
In all that's said, in all that's done, I see 'tis Mistress Briskit's fun;
I feel I am a very fool And well deserve your ridicule;
But if you do not quickly go, A Constable the way shall show.”
“—Was ever any thing so rude! Was ever such ingratitude!”
About the room their tongues resounded:
And 'twas confusion worse confounded.
“We came not here for nought you know,
And we will kiss you ere we go;
For though we do not gain our ends,
Pray, sweet Sir, let us part as friends.
We only claim what is our due, And each expects a kiss from you.”
—The Doctor did defence prepare, And barricadoed with a chair,
But what, alas, was to be done, 'Twas fearful odds, 'twas six to one.
Thus they the angry Sage assail'd,
He kick'd and fought, but they prevail'd.
Urg'd by his passion as by shame, Thus loudly did the Sage exclaim:
“Pat, turn these beldames out I pray,
O make them, make them brush away,
By any means, or smooth or rough, I care not how you get them off.”
Says Pat, “I hear, Sir, your commands,
I'll take the ladies off your hands!
And now I beg, my pretty dears, That you will lay aside your fears;
I'll do your ladyships no harm,
I'll kiss you well, and make you warm.
So come along my sweetest honeys,
For love like mine hates ceremonies.”
He kept his word with no small bustling,
Muslins were torn, and silks were rustling,
And as they glided tow'rds the stair,
He smack'd and clapp'd each passing fair,
But the muse must not mention where.
—Pat, who was now in all his glory,
Thus hurried onward with his story.
“Sir, as the party went down stairs
With frowning looks and humble airs,
And halted on the landing-places To brush up their disorder'd graces,
I bid them send their Mrs. Briskit Just to visit us and frisk it,
As we had a rod in pickling, To give her fancy such a tickling,
That with all her fine pretences, Would soon restore her to her senses.
Something of this kind she will play, As her maids told me, ev'ry day.
Nay, would you think, Sir, this sweet jewel,
Once drove her husband to a duel;
Who stood a shot to make amends For her mad fits of odds and ends!”
“—All's well that ends well, honest Pat,
So we will think no more of that,”
The Doctor said, and, tir'd of riot, He sought the sofa's lulling quiet,
'Resign'd to sleep's oblivious power,
Till time announc'd the dinner hour.
It may have been before observ'd,
The Doctor's stomach never swerv'd
From all those duties, morn or night, Which wait on genuine appetite;
His spirits therefore now had gain'd
The strength by dainty food attain'd;
And as he did the goblet quaff, He found himself dispos'd to laugh,
And not to think with fretful spleen
At the past morning's senseless scene,
Though with self-taunting ridicule, He would just call himself a fool.
This evening he was quite alone, Patrick and Mrs. Broom were gone,
And, as he pac'd the chamber floor, His journey past he ponder'd o'er:
And though his hopes he did not crown,
Yet many pleasures, he must own, He had in its long circuit known;
Mix'd up indeed with various whim, That was familiar quite to him.
For he still felt the Quixote spirit, Which he was destin'd to inherit
From his long-past, e'en boyish age,
To that which now had dubb'd him sage.
—He had his little business done, And it was time he should be gone.
Still he another week would stay, And for his mere amusement stray
About this wond'rous town, to see What wakens curiosity.
Nor was this all, poor Punch had died,
Her vacant stall must be supplied;
And, now his mind was more at ease,
On the fair Artist's power to please
He dwelt, and on the ample measure
She could dispense of solid pleasure,
So that he did, at least, refer A day to reason and to her.
—Thus as he turned his projects o'er, A rap resounded at the door.
“Well! Well!” he thought, “what can this be,
To break in on my reverie?
Old Vellum ne'er so late would come,
As 'tis his time for gadding home.”
He op'd the door, and 'gan to stare, For lo, no visitor was there;
But, looking onward to the floor, There was a basket cover'd o'er
With a warm blanket, which remov'd,
The covering of an infant prov'd:
There a sweet, lovely baby slept, And look'd as if it ne'er had wept.
Syntax, now all amazement, said, Or rather lift his hands and pray'd:
“O save me, Heaven, what shall I do!” Exclaiming, on a closer view,
“And Heaven I trust will save thee too!”
A neighbouring Lawyer op'd his door, The exclamation to explore,
When Syntax, all amazement, said, “Here at my door a child is laid.”
“Well,” the Attorney then replied, “By no law is it specified
That you're oblig'd to take it in.” “But think,” said Syntax, “what a sin
To leave the infant here to lie Throughout the night—perhaps to die!
It would be murder in my creed, And my heart shudders at the deed.”
The Lawyer then withdrew his light,
Said, “Wish you joy, and so good night.”
—A message soon reach'd Mrs. Broom, With orders instantly to come.
Short was her period of complying,
For she thought Syntax must be dying;
But when she came and found him well, How she began her joy to tell.
“But then, Sir, why this mighty hurry? I really am in such a flurry!”
“It is the same,” he said, “with me,
Beneath that cloth the cause you'll see.” And then he told the history.
“O,” she exclaim'd, “the wretched creature,
That thus could violate her nature!
Indeed Sir, it may not be civil, But such a mother is a devil!”
“Good Mrs. Broom, that may be true, But say what are we now to do,
For we must instantly prepare To make this innocent our care.”
“O 'tis a charming babe,” she said, “As ever was in cradle laid.
O such a cherub to destroy— But is it, Sir, a girl or boy?”
The Sage replied, “pray look and see, For that is yet unknown to me.”
She on her nose the glasses plac'd,
And the sweet, sleeping figure trac'd;
“O,” she exclaim'd, “the truth I scan;
When he grows up he'll be a man!
'Tis well, Sir, that it is no worse, For I now know a ready nurse,
And ere that you are gone to rest The babe shall find a milky breast.”
The Doctor then the foundling eyed, And thus in soften'd tones replied:
“Let the same tender love be shown As if the infant were my own:
I leave the creature to thy care, Nor cost nor fondest caution spare.”
He kiss'd the infant as it went,
Then smil'd, for goodness beam'd content.
—'Twas a droll day, few such we see, But such the Doctor's destiny.
At morn, three would-be wives besought him;
At night a new-born child was brought him:
But these strange haps did not molest
The tranquil temper of his breast;
Nor did it cause a wakeful eye,
When the slow, midnight hour drew nigh.
—Sweet are the slumbers of the good,
And Syntax slept as virtue should.
A letter from Ma'am Briskit came, That did his quick attention claim.
He broke the seal, then rubb'd his head,
And thus aloud the epistle read:—
“Try, MY DEAR DOCTOR, all your art,
To make yourself supremely smart,
For ere 'tis mid-day you will see
Two pleasing objects, I think three, To claim your fond idolatry.
But then they will not come alone,
Each has a friend to make her known,
Because, to speak their several state Must shock you as indelicate.
A kind aunt will on one attend, Another has a guardian friend,
And with the youngest of the three, You will a tender mother see.
Either of them will suit you well; I've seen them all, and all excel
In diff'rent ways perhaps, but still,
If in my sex I've any skill, They must your utmost wish fulfil:
Your heart, of course will fix on one,
And then the important deed is done.
I've been to my commission true, And so, my dear Divine, Adieu!
While I possess the power to frisk it, I shall be yours,
The Doctor conn'd the letter o'er,
To make yourself supremely smart,
For ere 'tis mid-day you will see
Two pleasing objects, I think three, To claim your fond idolatry.
But then they will not come alone,
Each has a friend to make her known,
Because, to speak their several state Must shock you as indelicate.
A kind aunt will on one attend, Another has a guardian friend,
And with the youngest of the three, You will a tender mother see.
Either of them will suit you well; I've seen them all, and all excel
In diff'rent ways perhaps, but still,
If in my sex I've any skill, They must your utmost wish fulfil:
Your heart, of course will fix on one,
And then the important deed is done.
I've been to my commission true, And so, my dear Divine, Adieu!
While I possess the power to frisk it, I shall be yours,
SUSANNA BRISKIT.”
And thoughts arose unthought before:
Nay strange suspicions now began To seize upon the inner man;
And ere he could arrange his view Of what it now were best to do,
About the door a certain stir Announc'd a two-fold visitor.
The elder said, “Sir, if you please, Permit me to present my niece.”
But the prim lady scarce had spoke,
When, in a voice like raven's croak,
Another said, “I here attend, As counsellor to this my friend,
Who for your sake would feel a pride In laying widow's weeds aside.”
Another at that moment came, A somewhat of a dashing dame:
“My daughter, Sir, I here present, The excess of all accomplishment.”
—Syntax observing on each face A certain smother of grimace,
“Pat, I command you keep the door, Nor entrance give to any more,”
350
What, ladies fair, have you to say?”
—In a strange kind of bustling fuss,
They in succession answer'd thus:
“—I am first cousin to a Lord,
And therefore claim your earliest word.”
“My niece is of superior age, And should the first your ear engage,
“—My child is youngest of the three,
As at a glance, Sir, you may see,
And if you 'bide by Love's decorum,
She, Doctor, should be heard before 'em.”
“—Ladies,” he said, “I plainly see
The tricks that you would play with me.
In all that's said, in all that's done, I see 'tis Mistress Briskit's fun;
I feel I am a very fool And well deserve your ridicule;
But if you do not quickly go, A Constable the way shall show.”
“—Was ever any thing so rude! Was ever such ingratitude!”
About the room their tongues resounded:
And 'twas confusion worse confounded.
“We came not here for nought you know,
And we will kiss you ere we go;
For though we do not gain our ends,
Pray, sweet Sir, let us part as friends.
We only claim what is our due, And each expects a kiss from you.”
—The Doctor did defence prepare, And barricadoed with a chair,
But what, alas, was to be done, 'Twas fearful odds, 'twas six to one.
Thus they the angry Sage assail'd,
He kick'd and fought, but they prevail'd.
Urg'd by his passion as by shame, Thus loudly did the Sage exclaim:
“Pat, turn these beldames out I pray,
O make them, make them brush away,
By any means, or smooth or rough, I care not how you get them off.”
Says Pat, “I hear, Sir, your commands,
I'll take the ladies off your hands!
And now I beg, my pretty dears, That you will lay aside your fears;
I'll do your ladyships no harm,
I'll kiss you well, and make you warm.
So come along my sweetest honeys,
For love like mine hates ceremonies.”
He kept his word with no small bustling,
Muslins were torn, and silks were rustling,
And as they glided tow'rds the stair,
He smack'd and clapp'd each passing fair,
But the muse must not mention where.
—Pat, who was now in all his glory,
Thus hurried onward with his story.
“Sir, as the party went down stairs
With frowning looks and humble airs,
And halted on the landing-places To brush up their disorder'd graces,
I bid them send their Mrs. Briskit Just to visit us and frisk it,
As we had a rod in pickling, To give her fancy such a tickling,
351
Something of this kind she will play, As her maids told me, ev'ry day.
Nay, would you think, Sir, this sweet jewel,
Once drove her husband to a duel;
Who stood a shot to make amends For her mad fits of odds and ends!”
“—All's well that ends well, honest Pat,
So we will think no more of that,”
The Doctor said, and, tir'd of riot, He sought the sofa's lulling quiet,
'Resign'd to sleep's oblivious power,
Till time announc'd the dinner hour.
It may have been before observ'd,
The Doctor's stomach never swerv'd
From all those duties, morn or night, Which wait on genuine appetite;
His spirits therefore now had gain'd
The strength by dainty food attain'd;
And as he did the goblet quaff, He found himself dispos'd to laugh,
And not to think with fretful spleen
At the past morning's senseless scene,
Though with self-taunting ridicule, He would just call himself a fool.
This evening he was quite alone, Patrick and Mrs. Broom were gone,
And, as he pac'd the chamber floor, His journey past he ponder'd o'er:
And though his hopes he did not crown,
Yet many pleasures, he must own, He had in its long circuit known;
Mix'd up indeed with various whim, That was familiar quite to him.
For he still felt the Quixote spirit, Which he was destin'd to inherit
From his long-past, e'en boyish age,
To that which now had dubb'd him sage.
—He had his little business done, And it was time he should be gone.
Still he another week would stay, And for his mere amusement stray
About this wond'rous town, to see What wakens curiosity.
Nor was this all, poor Punch had died,
Her vacant stall must be supplied;
And, now his mind was more at ease,
On the fair Artist's power to please
He dwelt, and on the ample measure
She could dispense of solid pleasure,
So that he did, at least, refer A day to reason and to her.
—Thus as he turned his projects o'er, A rap resounded at the door.
“Well! Well!” he thought, “what can this be,
To break in on my reverie?
Old Vellum ne'er so late would come,
As 'tis his time for gadding home.”
He op'd the door, and 'gan to stare, For lo, no visitor was there;
But, looking onward to the floor, There was a basket cover'd o'er
With a warm blanket, which remov'd,
The covering of an infant prov'd:
There a sweet, lovely baby slept, And look'd as if it ne'er had wept.
Syntax, now all amazement, said, Or rather lift his hands and pray'd:
“O save me, Heaven, what shall I do!” Exclaiming, on a closer view,
“And Heaven I trust will save thee too!”
A neighbouring Lawyer op'd his door, The exclamation to explore,
352
“Well,” the Attorney then replied, “By no law is it specified
That you're oblig'd to take it in.” “But think,” said Syntax, “what a sin
To leave the infant here to lie Throughout the night—perhaps to die!
It would be murder in my creed, And my heart shudders at the deed.”
The Lawyer then withdrew his light,
Said, “Wish you joy, and so good night.”
—A message soon reach'd Mrs. Broom, With orders instantly to come.
Short was her period of complying,
For she thought Syntax must be dying;
But when she came and found him well, How she began her joy to tell.
“But then, Sir, why this mighty hurry? I really am in such a flurry!”
“It is the same,” he said, “with me,
Beneath that cloth the cause you'll see.” And then he told the history.
“O,” she exclaim'd, “the wretched creature,
That thus could violate her nature!
Indeed Sir, it may not be civil, But such a mother is a devil!”
“Good Mrs. Broom, that may be true, But say what are we now to do,
For we must instantly prepare To make this innocent our care.”
“O 'tis a charming babe,” she said, “As ever was in cradle laid.
O such a cherub to destroy— But is it, Sir, a girl or boy?”
The Sage replied, “pray look and see, For that is yet unknown to me.”
She on her nose the glasses plac'd,
And the sweet, sleeping figure trac'd;
“O,” she exclaim'd, “the truth I scan;
When he grows up he'll be a man!
'Tis well, Sir, that it is no worse, For I now know a ready nurse,
And ere that you are gone to rest The babe shall find a milky breast.”
The Doctor then the foundling eyed, And thus in soften'd tones replied:
“Let the same tender love be shown As if the infant were my own:
I leave the creature to thy care, Nor cost nor fondest caution spare.”
He kiss'd the infant as it went,
Then smil'd, for goodness beam'd content.
—'Twas a droll day, few such we see, But such the Doctor's destiny.
At morn, three would-be wives besought him;
At night a new-born child was brought him:
But these strange haps did not molest
The tranquil temper of his breast;
Nor did it cause a wakeful eye,
When the slow, midnight hour drew nigh.
—Sweet are the slumbers of the good,
And Syntax slept as virtue should.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |