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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| XII. | CANTO XII. |
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
CANTO XII.
Life is a journey,—on we go Through many a scene of joy and woe:
Time flits along and will not stay, Nor let us linger on the way:
Like as a stream, whose varying course
Now rushes with impetuous force;
Now in successive eddies plays, Or in meanders gently strays.
It still moves on, till spreading wide, It mingles with the briny tide;
And, when it meets the ocean's roar,
The limpid waves are seen no more.
Such, such is Life's uncertain way;—
Now the sun wakes th'enliv'ning day:
The scene around enchants the sight; To cool retreat the shades invite;
The blossoms balmy fragrance shed;
The meads a verdant carpet spread;
While the clear rill reflects below
The flowers that on its margin grow,
And the sweet songsters of the grove Attune to harmony and love.
But lo! the clouds obscure the sky,
And tell the bursting tempest nigh,
The vivid flash, the pelting storm Fair Nature's ev'ry grace deform;
While their assailing powers annoy The pensive pilgrim's tranquil joy:
But, though no tempests should molest The bower where he stops to rest,
Care will not let him long remain, But sets him on his way again.
Thus Syntax, whom the 'Squire had press'd
For three whole months to take his rest;
Sigh'd when he found he could not stay To loiter through another day:
“No,” he exclaim'd, “I must away:—
I have a splendid book to make, To form a Tour,—to paint a Lake;
And, by that well projected Tome, To carry fame and money home:
And should I fail, my loving wife Will lead me such a precious life,
That I had better never more Approach my then forbidden door.”
'Twas thus he ponder'd as he lay, When the sun told another day,
Nor long the downy couch he press'd,
Where busy thought disturb'd his rest;
But quick prepar'd with grateful heart,
From this warm mansion to depart.
The 'Squire to his professions true, Thus spoke at once his kind adieu.
'Squire.—
Time flits along and will not stay, Nor let us linger on the way:
Like as a stream, whose varying course
Now rushes with impetuous force;
Now in successive eddies plays, Or in meanders gently strays.
It still moves on, till spreading wide, It mingles with the briny tide;
And, when it meets the ocean's roar,
The limpid waves are seen no more.
Such, such is Life's uncertain way;—
Now the sun wakes th'enliv'ning day:
The scene around enchants the sight; To cool retreat the shades invite;
The blossoms balmy fragrance shed;
The meads a verdant carpet spread;
While the clear rill reflects below
The flowers that on its margin grow,
And the sweet songsters of the grove Attune to harmony and love.
But lo! the clouds obscure the sky,
And tell the bursting tempest nigh,
The vivid flash, the pelting storm Fair Nature's ev'ry grace deform;
While their assailing powers annoy The pensive pilgrim's tranquil joy:
But, though no tempests should molest The bower where he stops to rest,
Care will not let him long remain, But sets him on his way again.
Thus Syntax, whom the 'Squire had press'd
For three whole months to take his rest;
Sigh'd when he found he could not stay To loiter through another day:
“No,” he exclaim'd, “I must away:—
I have a splendid book to make, To form a Tour,—to paint a Lake;
And, by that well projected Tome, To carry fame and money home:
And should I fail, my loving wife Will lead me such a precious life,
That I had better never more Approach my then forbidden door.”
'Twas thus he ponder'd as he lay, When the sun told another day,
Nor long the downy couch he press'd,
Where busy thought disturb'd his rest;
But quick prepar'd with grateful heart,
From this warm mansion to depart.
45
“I'm sorry, Sir, with all my heart,
That you and I so soon must part:
Your virtues my regard engage; I venerate the rev'rend sage;
And, though I've not the mind to toil
In Learning's way, by midnight oil,
Yet still I feel the rev'rence due To all such learned men as you:
Nor can I urge your longer stay, When Science calls you far away:
But still I hope you'll not refuse My friendly tribute to the Muse;
And when again you this way come,
Again you'll find this house a home.
Besides, I mean to recommend Your labours to a noble friend
Who well is known to rank as high In learning as in quality;
Who can your merits well review; A statesman and a poet too:
He will your genius truly scan, And though a Lord, a learned man.
For C--- is an honour'd name, Whose virtue and unsully'd fame
Will decorate the historic page, And live through ev'ry future age.
That courteous Lord doth condescend To know me for a faithful friend;
And, when you to his Lordship give
The letter which you now receive,
Expect, on his right noble part, A welcome that will cheer your heart.
To --- then repair, And Honour will attend you there.
Nor fear, my friend, that gilded state
Will frown upon your humble fate; My Lord is good as he is great.”
Syntax.—
“Your kindness, surely, knows no end;
You are in truth a real friend;
Nor can my feeble tongue express This unexpected happiness:
For if this noble Lord should deign My feeble labours to sustain,
With the all-cheering, splendid rays Of his benign, protecting praise,
My fortune will at once be made,
And I shall bless the author's trade.”
Thus, as he spoke, 'Squire Hearty gave
The letter Syntax long'd to have;
And with it a soft silky note,
On which two coal-black words were wrote;
The sight of which his sense confounds,
For these said words were Twenty Pounds.
“Check,” said the 'Squire, “your wond'ring look;
'Tis my subscription to your book;
And when 'tis printed, you will send A copy to your Yorkshire friend;
Besides, I'll try to sell a score Among my neighbours here, or more.”
The Doctor's tongue made no reply,
But his heart heav'd a grateful sigh:
Nor, as he sits can we do better Than to repeat the promis'd letter.
“My Lord,—This liberty I take, For laughter and for merit's sake;
And when the bearer shall appear In your fine mansion's atmosphere,
His figure will your spirits cheer.
You need no other topic seek; He'll furnish laughter for a week.
But still I say, and tell you true, You'll love him for his merit too.
You'll see at once in this Divine, Quixote and Parson Adams shine:
An hero well combin'd you'll view For Fielding and Cervantes too:
Besides, my Lord, if I can judge, In classic lore he's us'd to drudge.
O do but hear his simple story; Let him but lay it all before you;
And you will thank me for my letter,
And say that you are Hearty's debtor:
Nay, when your sides are tir'd with mirth,
Your heart will feel his real worth.
I know your kindness will receive him,
And to your favour thus I leave him.
So I remain with zeal most fervent,
Your Lordship's true and hearty servant.
York, Thursday.
And when the bearer shall appear In your fine mansion's atmosphere,
His figure will your spirits cheer.
You need no other topic seek; He'll furnish laughter for a week.
But still I say, and tell you true, You'll love him for his merit too.
You'll see at once in this Divine, Quixote and Parson Adams shine:
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Besides, my Lord, if I can judge, In classic lore he's us'd to drudge.
O do but hear his simple story; Let him but lay it all before you;
And you will thank me for my letter,
And say that you are Hearty's debtor:
Nay, when your sides are tir'd with mirth,
Your heart will feel his real worth.
I know your kindness will receive him,
And to your favour thus I leave him.
So I remain with zeal most fervent,
Your Lordship's true and hearty servant.
York, Thursday.
R. H.”
The Doctor now prepar'd to go, With heart of joy and look of woe;
He silent squeez'd the 'Squire's hands,
And ask'd of Madam her commands.
The 'Squire exclaim'd, “why so remiss? She bids you take a hearty kiss;
And if you think that one won't do,
I beg, dear Sir, you'll give her two:”
“Nay then,” says Syntax, “you shall see;”
And straight he gave the Lady three;
Nor did he linger to exclaim, “He ne'er had kiss'd a fairer dame.”
The Lady blushing thank'd him too, And in soft accents, said—“Adieu!”
Syntax, since first he left his home,
Had no such view of good to come,
As now before his fancy rose To bid him laugh at future woes.
“Fortune,” he cried, “is kind at last, And I forgive her malice past;
Clad in C---'s benignant form,
Her power no more will wake the storm,
Nor e'er again her anger shed In frequent showers upon my head?”
He silent squeez'd the 'Squire's hands,
And ask'd of Madam her commands.
The 'Squire exclaim'd, “why so remiss? She bids you take a hearty kiss;
And if you think that one won't do,
I beg, dear Sir, you'll give her two:”
“Nay then,” says Syntax, “you shall see;”
And straight he gave the Lady three;
Nor did he linger to exclaim, “He ne'er had kiss'd a fairer dame.”
The Lady blushing thank'd him too, And in soft accents, said—“Adieu!”
Syntax, since first he left his home,
Had no such view of good to come,
As now before his fancy rose To bid him laugh at future woes.
“Fortune,” he cried, “is kind at last, And I forgive her malice past;
Clad in C---'s benignant form,
Her power no more will wake the storm,
Nor e'er again her anger shed In frequent showers upon my head?”
Now after a short morning's ride, In eager Hope and Fancy's pride,
The Doctor views with conscious smile,
Fair ---'s splendid pile.
Not Versailles makes a finer show, As, passing o'er the lofty brow,
The stately scene is viewed below.
The Lord received him with a grace
Which mark'd the sov'reign of the place;
Nor was poor Syntax made to feel The pride which fools so oft reveal;
Who think it a fine state decorum,
When humble merit stands before 'em:
But here was birth from folly free, Here was the true nobility,
Where human kindness gilds the crest; The first of virtues and the best.
The Doctor views with conscious smile,
Fair ---'s splendid pile.
Not Versailles makes a finer show, As, passing o'er the lofty brow,
The stately scene is viewed below.
The Lord received him with a grace
Which mark'd the sov'reign of the place;
Nor was poor Syntax made to feel The pride which fools so oft reveal;
Who think it a fine state decorum,
When humble merit stands before 'em:
But here was birth from folly free, Here was the true nobility,
Where human kindness gilds the crest; The first of virtues and the best.
An hour in pleasant chit-chat past, The welcome dinner came at last;
And now the hungry Syntax eats Of high regouts and dainty meats;
Nor was the good man found to shrink
Whenever he was ask'd to drink.
My Lord.—
And now the hungry Syntax eats Of high regouts and dainty meats;
Nor was the good man found to shrink
Whenever he was ask'd to drink.
“What think you, Doctor, of the show
Of pictures that around you glow?”
Syntax.—
“I'll by-and-by enjoy the treat;
But now, my Lord, I'd rather eat.”
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“What say you to this statue here?
Does it not flesh and blood appear?”
Syntax.—
“I'm sure, my Lord, 'tis very fine;
But I, just now, prefer your wine.”
Sir John.—
“I wonder you can keep your eye
From forms that do with nature vie!
Nay, in my mind, my rev'rend friend,
Nature's best works they far transcend.
Look at that picture of the Graces,
What lovely forms!—what charming faces!”
Syntax.—
“Their charms, Sir John, I shall discover,
I have no doubt, when dinner's over;
At present, if to judge I'm able, The finest works are on the table:
I should prefer the cook just now, To Rubens or to Gerrard Dow.”
My Lord.—
“I wish to judge by certain rules,
The Flemish and Italian schools;
And nicely to describe the merits
Or beauties which each school inherits.”
Syntax.—
“Tho', in their way they're both bewitching;
I now prefer your Lordship's kitchen.”
The dinner done, the punch appears,
And many a glass their spirits cheers.
The festive hours thus pass'd away, Till time brought on the closing day:
The Doctor talk'd, nor ceas'd his quaffing,
While all around were sick with laughing.
My Lord.—
And many a glass their spirits cheers.
The festive hours thus pass'd away, Till time brought on the closing day:
The Doctor talk'd, nor ceas'd his quaffing,
While all around were sick with laughing.
“Again the subject I renew,
And wish you would the pictures view.”
Syntax.—
“To view them now would be a trouble,
For faith, my Lord, my eyes see double.”
My Lord.—
“To bed then we had best repair,—
I give you to the Butler's care;
A sage grave man, who will obey Whate'er your Rev'rence has to say.”
The sage grave man appear'd, and bow'd:
“I am of this good office proud;
But 'tis the custom of this place, From country-yeomen to his Grace,
Whene'er a stranger guest we see, To make him of the cellar free,
To you the same respect we bear, And therefore beg to lead you there;
Where ev'ry noble butt doth claim The honour of some titled name.”
The servants waited on the stairs,
With cautious form and humble airs.
“Lead on,” said Syntax, “I'll not stay,
But follow where you lead the way.”
The Butler cried, “You'll understand It is our noble Lord's command
To give this rev'rend Doctor here A sample of our strongest beer;
So tap her grace of Devonshire.”
At length the potent liquor flows,
Which makes poor man forget his woes.
Syntax exclaim'd, “Here's Honour's boast;—
The health of our most noble Host— And let fair Devon crown the toast.”
The cups were cheer'd with loyal song;
But cups like these ne'er lasted long,
And Syntax stammer'd, “do you see? Now I'm of this fam'd cellar free,
I wish I might be quickly led T'enjoy my freedom in a bed.”
He wish'd but once, and was obey'd, And soon within a bed was laid,
Where, all the day's strange bus'ness o'er,
He now was left to sleep and snore.
“I am of this good office proud;
But 'tis the custom of this place, From country-yeomen to his Grace,
Whene'er a stranger guest we see, To make him of the cellar free,
To you the same respect we bear, And therefore beg to lead you there;
Where ev'ry noble butt doth claim The honour of some titled name.”
The servants waited on the stairs,
With cautious form and humble airs.
“Lead on,” said Syntax, “I'll not stay,
But follow where you lead the way.”
The Butler cried, “You'll understand It is our noble Lord's command
To give this rev'rend Doctor here A sample of our strongest beer;
So tap her grace of Devonshire.”
At length the potent liquor flows,
Which makes poor man forget his woes.
Syntax exclaim'd, “Here's Honour's boast;—
The health of our most noble Host— And let fair Devon crown the toast.”
The cups were cheer'd with loyal song;
But cups like these ne'er lasted long,
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I wish I might be quickly led T'enjoy my freedom in a bed.”
He wish'd but once, and was obey'd, And soon within a bed was laid,
Where, all the day's strange bus'ness o'er,
He now was left to sleep and snore.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |