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 morning came and Pat appear'd, Full of the story he had heard,
With feelings of parental care But still of anger no small share
'Gainst those that brought the infant there.
He did not fear the child would perish,
He knew there was a heart to cherish,
Nor ever to the parish send it,
But where 'twas left would there befriend it.
—At length there with the laundress came
An humble, curtsying, comely dame,
Of pleasing aspect, neatly dress'd,
With the poor foundling at her breast,
Where active instinct seem'd to cling As if it were its native spring.
“Last week,” she said, “I lost my own, And I will nurse this little one
With all the fond and tender care As if my child were milking there.
Who knows, good Sir, but on my word, I think its sire may be a Lord.
Dear heart, the linen is so fine, And work'd with such a nice design,
Nay, here and there, with flow'rs beset, My fancy sees a Coronet!”
“Heaven,” said the Doctor, “only knows
To whom the babe existence owes;
But this I know, and will not spare, To whom it owes a parent's care:
Therefore, good woman, I commend Its wants to you, and pray attend,
As if th'unconscious infant had Some rake of title for its dad,
Who for your service paid you well, That you might not the secret tell.
I have no other anxious wish, But from the full and flowing dish
Which nature gives you, it may share Its wonted meal, with ev'ry care,
'Till the due weaning hour demands
Increas'd attention at your hands;
When I shall leave a faithful friend Who to your counsel will attend,
And whose kind power is well prepar'd To satisfy and to reward.
For, while I live, the life that Heaven Has thus to my protection given
Shall want no necessary care That Christian duty bids prepare.”
The nurse each promise kind profess'd,
And clasp'd the infant to her breast;
While Mrs. Broom, with fond surprise, Applied her apron to her eyes.
The good folks wept and then they smil'd,
Bless'd the good deed and kiss'd the child;
Nor took their leaves with signs of sorrow,
When told to bring him there to-morrow.
With feelings of parental care But still of anger no small share
'Gainst those that brought the infant there.
He did not fear the child would perish,
He knew there was a heart to cherish,
Nor ever to the parish send it,
But where 'twas left would there befriend it.
—At length there with the laundress came
An humble, curtsying, comely dame,
353
With the poor foundling at her breast,
Where active instinct seem'd to cling As if it were its native spring.
“Last week,” she said, “I lost my own, And I will nurse this little one
With all the fond and tender care As if my child were milking there.
Who knows, good Sir, but on my word, I think its sire may be a Lord.
Dear heart, the linen is so fine, And work'd with such a nice design,
Nay, here and there, with flow'rs beset, My fancy sees a Coronet!”
“Heaven,” said the Doctor, “only knows
To whom the babe existence owes;
But this I know, and will not spare, To whom it owes a parent's care:
Therefore, good woman, I commend Its wants to you, and pray attend,
As if th'unconscious infant had Some rake of title for its dad,
Who for your service paid you well, That you might not the secret tell.
I have no other anxious wish, But from the full and flowing dish
Which nature gives you, it may share Its wonted meal, with ev'ry care,
'Till the due weaning hour demands
Increas'd attention at your hands;
When I shall leave a faithful friend Who to your counsel will attend,
And whose kind power is well prepar'd To satisfy and to reward.
For, while I live, the life that Heaven Has thus to my protection given
Shall want no necessary care That Christian duty bids prepare.”
The nurse each promise kind profess'd,
And clasp'd the infant to her breast;
While Mrs. Broom, with fond surprise, Applied her apron to her eyes.
The good folks wept and then they smil'd,
Bless'd the good deed and kiss'd the child;
Nor took their leaves with signs of sorrow,
When told to bring him there to-morrow.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |