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 |  |
56
CANTO XV.
“Virtue embraces ev'ry state; And, while it gilds the rich and great,
It cheers their heart who humbly stray Along Life's more sequester'd way:
While, from beneath the portals proud,
Wealth oft relieves the suppliant crowd,
The wayworn pilgrim smiles to share, In lowly homes, the welcome fare.
In splendid halls and painted bow'rs
Plenty may crown the festive hours;
Yet still within the secret dell The hospitable Virtues dwell;
And in this Isle, so brave and fair, Kind Charity is ev'rywhere.
Within the city's ample bound Her stately piles are seen around;
Where ev'ry want, and ev'ry pain That in man's feeble nature reign,
Where the sad heir of pining grief May, bless'd be Heaven! obtain relief;
While, on the humble village-green, How oft the low-roof'd pile is seen,
Where poverty forgets its woes, And wearied age may find repose.
It cheers their heart who humbly stray Along Life's more sequester'd way:
While, from beneath the portals proud,
Wealth oft relieves the suppliant crowd,
The wayworn pilgrim smiles to share, In lowly homes, the welcome fare.
In splendid halls and painted bow'rs
Plenty may crown the festive hours;
Yet still within the secret dell The hospitable Virtues dwell;
And in this Isle, so brave and fair, Kind Charity is ev'rywhere.
Within the city's ample bound Her stately piles are seen around;
Where ev'ry want, and ev'ry pain That in man's feeble nature reign,
Where the sad heir of pining grief May, bless'd be Heaven! obtain relief;
While, on the humble village-green, How oft the low-roof'd pile is seen,
Where poverty forgets its woes, And wearied age may find repose.
“Thrice happy Britons! while the car Of furious, unrelenting War
Leaves the dire track of streaming gore
On many a hapless, distant shore,—
While a remorseless tyrant's hand
Deals mis'ry, through each foreign land,
And fell destruction, from the throne
To him who doth the cottage own,
Peace beams upon your sea-girt Isle,
Where the bright virtues ever smile;
Where hostile shoutings ne'er molest The happy inmate's genial rest.
Where'er it is his lot to go, He will not meet an armed foe;
Nay, wheresoe'er his way doth tend,
He sure may chance to find a friend.”
Leaves the dire track of streaming gore
On many a hapless, distant shore,—
While a remorseless tyrant's hand
Deals mis'ry, through each foreign land,
And fell destruction, from the throne
To him who doth the cottage own,
Peace beams upon your sea-girt Isle,
Where the bright virtues ever smile;
Where hostile shoutings ne'er molest The happy inmate's genial rest.
Where'er it is his lot to go, He will not meet an armed foe;
Nay, wheresoe'er his way doth tend,
He sure may chance to find a friend.”
Thus, having rose at early day, As through the fields he took his way,
The Doctor did his thoughts rehearse,
And, as the Muse inspir'd, in verse:
For, while with skill each form he drew, His Rev'rence was a poet too.
But soon a bell's shrill, tinkling sound,
Re-echo'd all the meads around,
And said as plain as bell could say— “Breakfast is ready—come away.”
The welcome summons he obey'd, And found an arbour's pleasing shade,
Where, while the plenteous meal was spread,
The woodbine flaunted o'er his head.
The Doctor did his thoughts rehearse,
And, as the Muse inspir'd, in verse:
For, while with skill each form he drew, His Rev'rence was a poet too.
But soon a bell's shrill, tinkling sound,
Re-echo'd all the meads around,
And said as plain as bell could say— “Breakfast is ready—come away.”
The welcome summons he obey'd, And found an arbour's pleasing shade,
Where, while the plenteous meal was spread,
The woodbine flaunted o'er his head.
“Ah! little do the proud and great, Amid the pomp and toil and state,
Know of those simple, real joys, With which the bosom never cloys!
O! what a heart reviving treat I find within this rural seat!
All that can please the quicken'd taste Is offer'd in this fair repast.
The flowers, on their native bed, Around delicious odours shed:
A bloom that with the flow'ret vies
On those fair cheeks, attracts my eyes;
And what sweet music greets my ear,
When that voice bids me welcome here!
Indeed, each sense combines to bless The present hour with happiness.”
Thus Syntax spoke, nor spoke in vain;
The ladies felt the flatt'ring strain;
Nor could they do enough to please The Doctor for his courtesies.
“All that you see, if that's a charm, Is, Sir, the produce of our farm:
The rolls are nice, our oven bakes 'em;
Those oat cakes too, my sister makes 'em.
The cream is rich, pray do not save it;
The brindled cow you drew, Sir, gave it:
And here is some fresh gather'd fruit— I hope it will your palate suit:
'Tis country fare which you receive, But 'tis the best we have to give.”
“O!” said the 'Squire, “the Doctor jokes
With us poor harmless country folks:
I wonder that with all his sense, And such a tickling eloquence,
He has not turn'd an humble priest Into a good fat dean, at least.
We know how soon a Lady's ear Will list the honey'd sound to hear:
At the same time, I'm free to say I think the men as vain as they.
How happens it my learned friend, That you have not attain'd your end?
That all your figures and your tropes
Have not fulfill'd your rightful hopes?
I should suppose your shining parts And above all your flatt'ring arts,
Would soon have turn'd your grizzly mare
Into a handsome chaise and pair.
I live amidst my native groves, And the calm scene my nature loves:
But still I know, and often see, What gains are made by flattery.”
“That may be true,” the Doctor said; “But flattery is not my trade.
Indeed, dear Sir, you do me wrong—
Nor sordid interest guides my tongue;
Honour and Virtue I admire, Or in a Bishop or a 'Squire;
But falsehood I most keenly hate,
Tho' gilt with wealth, or crown'd with state.
For TRUTH I'm like a lion bold; And a base lie I never told:
Indeed, I know too many a sinner Will lie by dozens for a dinner;
But, from the days of earliest youth,
I've worshipp'd, as I've practis'd Truth;
Nay, many a stormy, bitter strife I've had with my dear loving wife,
Who often says she might have seen
Her husband a fine, pompous Dean:
Indeed, she sometimes thinks her spouse
Might have a mitre on his brows,
If, putting scruples out of view, He'd do as other people do.
No—I will never lie nor fawn, Nor flatter to be rob'd in lawn.
I too, can boast a certain rule Within the precincts of my school:
Whatever faults I may pass by, I never can forgive a lie.
I hate to use the birchen rod; But, when a boy forswears his God;
When he in purpos'd falsehood deals,
My heavy strokes the culprit feels.
Vice I detest, whoever shows it, And, when I see it, I'll expose it:
But, to kind hearts my homage due I sure will pay, and pay to you;
Nor will you, Sir, deny the share I owe to these two ladies fair.”
The 'Squire replied, “I e'en must yield,
And leave you master of the field:
These Ladies will I'm sure agree That you have fairly conquer'd me;
But, be assur'd, all joke apart, I feel your doctrine from my heart.
Your free-born conduct I commend, And shall rejoice to call you friend:
O! how it would my spirits cheer If you were but the rector here!
Our Parson, I'm concern'd to say,
Had rather drink and game—than pray:
He makes no bones to curse and swear, In any rout to take a share,
And what's still worse, he'll springe a hare.
I wish his neck he would but break, Or tumble drunk into the Lake!
For, know the living's mine to give,
And you should soon the cure receive:
The Benefice, I'm sure, is clear, At least three hundred pounds a year.”
“I thank you, Sir, with all my heart,”
Said Syntax, “but we now must part.”
The fair-ones cry'd—“We beg you'll stay,
And pass with us another day.”
“—Ladies, I would 'twere in my pow'r, But I can't stay another hour:
I feel your kindness to my soul, And wish I could my fate controul;
Within ten days the time will come When I shall be expected home;
Nor is this all—for strange to say, I must take London in my way.”
Thus converse kind the moments cheer'd,
Till Grizzle at the gate appear'd.
“Well,” said the 'Squire, “since you must go
Our hearty wishes we bestow:
And if your genius bids you take Another journey to the Lake,
Remember Worthy-Hall, we pray, And come and make a longer stay:
Write too, and tell your distant friends
With what success your journey ends.
We do not mean it as a bribe, But to your work we must subscribe.”
The Ladies too, exclaim'd—“repeat Your visit to our northern seat.”
Know of those simple, real joys, With which the bosom never cloys!
O! what a heart reviving treat I find within this rural seat!
All that can please the quicken'd taste Is offer'd in this fair repast.
The flowers, on their native bed, Around delicious odours shed:
A bloom that with the flow'ret vies
On those fair cheeks, attracts my eyes;
And what sweet music greets my ear,
When that voice bids me welcome here!
Indeed, each sense combines to bless The present hour with happiness.”
57
The ladies felt the flatt'ring strain;
Nor could they do enough to please The Doctor for his courtesies.
“All that you see, if that's a charm, Is, Sir, the produce of our farm:
The rolls are nice, our oven bakes 'em;
Those oat cakes too, my sister makes 'em.
The cream is rich, pray do not save it;
The brindled cow you drew, Sir, gave it:
And here is some fresh gather'd fruit— I hope it will your palate suit:
'Tis country fare which you receive, But 'tis the best we have to give.”
“O!” said the 'Squire, “the Doctor jokes
With us poor harmless country folks:
I wonder that with all his sense, And such a tickling eloquence,
He has not turn'd an humble priest Into a good fat dean, at least.
We know how soon a Lady's ear Will list the honey'd sound to hear:
At the same time, I'm free to say I think the men as vain as they.
How happens it my learned friend, That you have not attain'd your end?
That all your figures and your tropes
Have not fulfill'd your rightful hopes?
I should suppose your shining parts And above all your flatt'ring arts,
Would soon have turn'd your grizzly mare
Into a handsome chaise and pair.
I live amidst my native groves, And the calm scene my nature loves:
But still I know, and often see, What gains are made by flattery.”
“That may be true,” the Doctor said; “But flattery is not my trade.
Indeed, dear Sir, you do me wrong—
Nor sordid interest guides my tongue;
Honour and Virtue I admire, Or in a Bishop or a 'Squire;
But falsehood I most keenly hate,
Tho' gilt with wealth, or crown'd with state.
For TRUTH I'm like a lion bold; And a base lie I never told:
Indeed, I know too many a sinner Will lie by dozens for a dinner;
But, from the days of earliest youth,
I've worshipp'd, as I've practis'd Truth;
Nay, many a stormy, bitter strife I've had with my dear loving wife,
Who often says she might have seen
Her husband a fine, pompous Dean:
Indeed, she sometimes thinks her spouse
Might have a mitre on his brows,
If, putting scruples out of view, He'd do as other people do.
No—I will never lie nor fawn, Nor flatter to be rob'd in lawn.
I too, can boast a certain rule Within the precincts of my school:
Whatever faults I may pass by, I never can forgive a lie.
I hate to use the birchen rod; But, when a boy forswears his God;
When he in purpos'd falsehood deals,
My heavy strokes the culprit feels.
Vice I detest, whoever shows it, And, when I see it, I'll expose it:
But, to kind hearts my homage due I sure will pay, and pay to you;
Nor will you, Sir, deny the share I owe to these two ladies fair.”
The 'Squire replied, “I e'en must yield,
And leave you master of the field:
58
But, be assur'd, all joke apart, I feel your doctrine from my heart.
Your free-born conduct I commend, And shall rejoice to call you friend:
O! how it would my spirits cheer If you were but the rector here!
Our Parson, I'm concern'd to say,
Had rather drink and game—than pray:
He makes no bones to curse and swear, In any rout to take a share,
And what's still worse, he'll springe a hare.
I wish his neck he would but break, Or tumble drunk into the Lake!
For, know the living's mine to give,
And you should soon the cure receive:
The Benefice, I'm sure, is clear, At least three hundred pounds a year.”
“I thank you, Sir, with all my heart,”
Said Syntax, “but we now must part.”
The fair-ones cry'd—“We beg you'll stay,
And pass with us another day.”
“—Ladies, I would 'twere in my pow'r, But I can't stay another hour:
I feel your kindness to my soul, And wish I could my fate controul;
Within ten days the time will come When I shall be expected home;
Nor is this all—for strange to say, I must take London in my way.”
Thus converse kind the moments cheer'd,
Till Grizzle at the gate appear'd.
“Well,” said the 'Squire, “since you must go
Our hearty wishes we bestow:
And if your genius bids you take Another journey to the Lake,
Remember Worthy-Hall, we pray, And come and make a longer stay:
Write too, and tell your distant friends
With what success your journey ends.
We do not mean it as a bribe, But to your work we must subscribe.”
The Ladies too, exclaim'd—“repeat Your visit to our northern seat.”
Poor Syntax knew not how to tell The gratitude he felt so well;
And, when at length he said—“Good bye,”
A tear was bright in either eye.
And, when at length he said—“Good bye,”
A tear was bright in either eye.
The Doctor pac'd along the way Till it grew nigh the close of day,
When the fair town appear'd in sight,
Where he propos'd to pass the night:
But as he reach'd the destin'd Inn, The landlord, with officious grin,
At once declar'd he had no bed Where Syntax could repose his head;
At least, where such a rev'rend guest Would think it fit to take his rest;
A main of cocks had fought that day And all the gentry chose to stay.
“Observe, my friend, I mind not cost,”
Says Syntax to his cringing host;
“But still at least I may be able To sleep with Grizzle in the stable;
And many a Doctor after all, Is proud to slumber in a stall:
In short, I only want to sleep Where neither rogue nor knave can creep.
I travel not with change of coats, But in these bags are all my notes:
Which, should I lose, would prove my ruin,
And be for ever, my undoing.”
Thus as he spoke, a lively blade,
With dangling queue and smart cockade,
Reply'd at once, “I have a room; The friend I looked for is not come;
And of two beds where we may rest,
You, my good Sir, shall have the best:
So you may sleep without alarm; No living wight shall do you harm:
You may depend upon my word;—
I serve the King and wear a sword.”
“Your offer, Sir, I kindly greet,” Says Syntax, “but you'll let me treat
With what is best to drink and eat;
And I request you will prepare, To your own taste, the bill of fare.”
When the fair town appear'd in sight,
Where he propos'd to pass the night:
But as he reach'd the destin'd Inn, The landlord, with officious grin,
At once declar'd he had no bed Where Syntax could repose his head;
At least, where such a rev'rend guest Would think it fit to take his rest;
A main of cocks had fought that day And all the gentry chose to stay.
“Observe, my friend, I mind not cost,”
Says Syntax to his cringing host;
“But still at least I may be able To sleep with Grizzle in the stable;
And many a Doctor after all, Is proud to slumber in a stall:
In short, I only want to sleep Where neither rogue nor knave can creep.
I travel not with change of coats, But in these bags are all my notes:
Which, should I lose, would prove my ruin,
And be for ever, my undoing.”
Thus as he spoke, a lively blade,
With dangling queue and smart cockade,
Reply'd at once, “I have a room; The friend I looked for is not come;
59
You, my good Sir, shall have the best:
So you may sleep without alarm; No living wight shall do you harm:
You may depend upon my word;—
I serve the King and wear a sword.”
“Your offer, Sir, I kindly greet,” Says Syntax, “but you'll let me treat
With what is best to drink and eat;
And I request you will prepare, To your own taste, the bill of fare.”
The Doctor and the Captain sat, Till tir'd of each other's chat,
They both agreed it would be best To seek the balmy sweets of rest.
Syntax soon clos'd his weary eye, Nor thought of any danger nigh;
While, like the ever-watchful snake, His sharp companion lay awake,
Impatient to assail his prey; When, soon as it was dawn of day,
He gently seiz'd the fancied store; But as he pass'd the creaking door,
Syntax awoke, and saw the thief; When loudly bawling for relief,
He forward rush'd in naked state, And caught the culprit at the gate:
Against that gate his head he beat,
Then kick'd him headlong to the street.
They both agreed it would be best To seek the balmy sweets of rest.
Syntax soon clos'd his weary eye, Nor thought of any danger nigh;
While, like the ever-watchful snake, His sharp companion lay awake,
Impatient to assail his prey; When, soon as it was dawn of day,
He gently seiz'd the fancied store; But as he pass'd the creaking door,
Syntax awoke, and saw the thief; When loudly bawling for relief,
He forward rush'd in naked state, And caught the culprit at the gate:
Against that gate his head he beat,
Then kick'd him headlong to the street.
The ostler from his bed arose, In time to hear and see the blows.
Says Syntax, “I'll not make a riot;
I've sav'd my notes, and I'll be quiet.
The rascal, if I'm not mistaken, Will ask his legs to save his bacon:
But what a figure I appear! I must not stand and shiver here:
So take me back into the room,
From hence in this strange way I've come.”
The ostler then the Doctor led, To the warm comforts of his bed:
Into that bed he quickly crept, Beneath his head his bags he kept,
And on that pillow safely slept.
Says Syntax, “I'll not make a riot;
I've sav'd my notes, and I'll be quiet.
The rascal, if I'm not mistaken, Will ask his legs to save his bacon:
But what a figure I appear! I must not stand and shiver here:
So take me back into the room,
From hence in this strange way I've come.”
The ostler then the Doctor led, To the warm comforts of his bed:
Into that bed he quickly crept, Beneath his head his bags he kept,
And on that pillow safely slept.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |