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.—
“How many of the human kind
Who to their common honour blind,
Look not in any path to stray But where fell passion leads the way:
Who, born with ev'ry real claim To wear the fairest wreath of Fame,
Reject the good by Nature given, And scoff at ev'ry boon of Heaven!
Yes; such there are, and such we find
At ev'ry point that gives the wind:
But, when among the crowd we see One whom, in prodigality,
Fortune and Nature had combin'd To fill his purse and form his mind;
Whose manly strength is grac'd with ease,
And has the happy pow'r to please;
Whose cooler moments never heard
The frantic vow to Heav'n preferr'd;
And near whose steps Repentance bears The vase of purifying tears;
When such a victim we behold, Urg'd by the rampant lust of gold,
Yielding his health, his life, his fame, As off'rings to the god of game;
The tear grows big in Virtue's eye,
Pale Reason heaves the poignant sigh;
The guardian spirit turns away, And hell enjoys a holiday.
Who to their common honour blind,
Look not in any path to stray But where fell passion leads the way:
Who, born with ev'ry real claim To wear the fairest wreath of Fame,
Reject the good by Nature given, And scoff at ev'ry boon of Heaven!
Yes; such there are, and such we find
At ev'ry point that gives the wind:
But, when among the crowd we see One whom, in prodigality,
Fortune and Nature had combin'd To fill his purse and form his mind;
Whose manly strength is grac'd with ease,
And has the happy pow'r to please;
Whose cooler moments never heard
The frantic vow to Heav'n preferr'd;
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When such a victim we behold, Urg'd by the rampant lust of gold,
Yielding his health, his life, his fame, As off'rings to the god of game;
The tear grows big in Virtue's eye,
Pale Reason heaves the poignant sigh;
The guardian spirit turns away, And hell enjoys a holiday.
“Is there on earth a hellish vice? There is, my friend, 'tis avarice:
Has avarice a more hellish name? It has, my friend—the lust of game.
All this, perhaps, you'll thus deny:—
‘There's no one, with more grace than I,
Lets shillings drop and guineas fly!
To the dejected hapless friend My door I ope, my purse I lend;
To purchase joy my wealth I give, And like a man of fashion live.”
Has avarice a more hellish name? It has, my friend—the lust of game.
All this, perhaps, you'll thus deny:—
‘There's no one, with more grace than I,
Lets shillings drop and guineas fly!
To the dejected hapless friend My door I ope, my purse I lend;
To purchase joy my wealth I give, And like a man of fashion live.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |