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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| XX. | CANTO XX. |
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
CANTO XX.
Thus as he spoke, there pass'd along,
Among the crowding, grinning throng,
One who was in full fashion drest, In coat of blue and corded vest,
And seem'd superior to the rest.
His small-clothes sat so close and tight;
His boots, like jet, were black and bright;
While the gilt spur, well-arm'd with steel,
Was seen to shine on either heel.
Loaded with seals, and all bespangled,
A watch-chain from his pocket dangled;
His hat a smiling face o'erspread, And almost hid his well-cropp'd head:
He swung his whip about to greet
His friends who hurried through the street;
When as he pass'd, all big with rage Syntax appear'd upon the stage,
And still continued talking loud For the amusement of the crowd.
The well-dress'd man now stopp'd, to know
What work'd the angry Doctor so;
And, in a pleasant friendly way, Demanded where his grievance lay;
When, Syntax bowing, on they walk'd,
And thus the social strangers talk'd.
Syntax.—
Among the crowding, grinning throng,
One who was in full fashion drest, In coat of blue and corded vest,
And seem'd superior to the rest.
His small-clothes sat so close and tight;
His boots, like jet, were black and bright;
While the gilt spur, well-arm'd with steel,
Was seen to shine on either heel.
Loaded with seals, and all bespangled,
A watch-chain from his pocket dangled;
His hat a smiling face o'erspread, And almost hid his well-cropp'd head:
He swung his whip about to greet
His friends who hurried through the street;
When as he pass'd, all big with rage Syntax appear'd upon the stage,
And still continued talking loud For the amusement of the crowd.
The well-dress'd man now stopp'd, to know
What work'd the angry Doctor so;
And, in a pleasant friendly way, Demanded where his grievance lay;
When, Syntax bowing, on they walk'd,
And thus the social strangers talk'd.
“These traders, Sir, I can't admire:
You, I presume, Sir, are a 'Squire.”
Mr. ---—
“I have (and here there pass'd an oath),
To say the truth, a spice of both:
For now you have within your view A trader and a 'Squire too.
Here I can some importance claim,
And --- is my well known name,
Nay, there are few within this town Of more substantial renown.
My house of trade is in this street; A few miles off my country seat:
Where I most frequently reside 'Mid all the charms of rural pride;
And I'll be --- if e'er you see A lord who better lives than me.”
Syntax.—
“Fie, fie, good Sir, I cannot bear
To hear a fellow-christian swear;
You must well know such profanation Is a foul trick in ev'ry station:
And will draw down celestial ire, Or on a trader, or a 'Squire:
Nay, 'tis the duty of my cloth, Whene'er I hear, to check an oath.
I'm a poor parson—very poor— I keep a school, and hold a cure;
But when I'm in the parish church, Or when at home I wield the birch,
77
I keep them always in my view— Aye, Sir, and I maintain them too:
Nay, in your 'Change, where, riches reign, I did that dignity maintain;
In that proud place, where, I am told,
There sometimes pour down showers of gold;
But not like that we read of Jove,
For that, you know, was pour'd for love;
And nothing like it did I see; No love, nor e'en civility:
I only ask'd a common grace, When the man mock'd me to my face:
Had I an arrant swindler been, He could not with more scornful mien
Have my polite proposal greeted: Indeed, I was most foully treated;
And by a dolt was made a joke Among the rude, surrounding folk.
Thus was I work'd into a stew, By Turk, by Gentile, and by Jew:
How bless'd am I to meet with you!
For know, Sir, I've the art to scan The well-bred, finish'd gentleman;
And, therefore, I shall lay before you Some items of my honest story.
The object of the Tour I make Is chiefly for the profit sake;
At the same time, I trust, my name May find some literary fame:
You, if you please, may take a look At what I've finish'd of my Book:
A noble Peer doth condescend To be my patron, and my friend;
I saw him late in York's fair country, And was the object of his bounty.
This draft, with most becoming grace,
The smile of goodness in his face,
He soft convey'd unto my touch,— He said, indeed, it was not much;
But, could I visit him in town,
He'd make his further friendship known:
And here, alas! I was so rash To try to get it chang'd for cash;
For which, myself and this great Peer,
Of these rude raffs, became the jeer.
Permit me, Sir, to show the paper
That made these purse-proud tradesmen vapour;
To its full value you'll accord;— Perhaps, Sir, you may know my Lord.”
Mr. ---—
“I know him well,—'tis his hand-writing—
It is his Lordship's own inditing:
I'll give the coin;—Why, blood and 'ounds;
I wish 'twere for five hundred pounds!
He is a Lord of great discerning;
His friendship proves your store of learning;
He's not more known for ancient birth,
Than for the charm of private worth;
For all that elegance and grace Which decorate a noble race:
Come here with me, and you shall find
At least one trader to your mind.”
Syntax now smooth'd his angry look,
And straight prepar'd to show his Book.
In a fine room he soon was seated; With all attention he was treated;
And while they at their luncheon sat,
Ten minutes pass'd in friendly chat.
At length the bus'ness was arrang'd;
The deed was done,—the draft was chang'd;
And, as the Doctor plac'd his note In a small pouch within his coat,
“There,” said the 'Squire, “there's another;
I've match'd it with its very brother,
The Bank of England is their mother;
And when they're offer'd to her eye, She'll own them as her progeny.
So tell my Lord, that I, for one, Am proud to do as he has done:
Nor is this all, my learned friend;
Here our acquaintance must not end;
My phaeton and servants wait, All in due order at the gate:
So you shall go along and see My rural hospitality.
For a few days we will contrive To keep our spirits all alive:
I'll send the groom to fetch your mare,
So laugh at thought and banish care.”
Thus off they went—and four-in-hand,
Dash'd briskly tow'rds the promis'd land:
Syntax first told his simple story, And then the 'Squire detail'd his glory.
Mr. ---—
And straight prepar'd to show his Book.
In a fine room he soon was seated; With all attention he was treated;
And while they at their luncheon sat,
Ten minutes pass'd in friendly chat.
At length the bus'ness was arrang'd;
The deed was done,—the draft was chang'd;
And, as the Doctor plac'd his note In a small pouch within his coat,
78
I've match'd it with its very brother,
The Bank of England is their mother;
And when they're offer'd to her eye, She'll own them as her progeny.
So tell my Lord, that I, for one, Am proud to do as he has done:
Nor is this all, my learned friend;
Here our acquaintance must not end;
My phaeton and servants wait, All in due order at the gate:
So you shall go along and see My rural hospitality.
For a few days we will contrive To keep our spirits all alive:
I'll send the groom to fetch your mare,
So laugh at thought and banish care.”
Thus off they went—and four-in-hand,
Dash'd briskly tow'rds the promis'd land:
Syntax first told his simple story, And then the 'Squire detail'd his glory.
“Now we're away in chaise-and-four,
I am a Merchant, Sir, no more,
At least, whene'er I thus retire, To flourish as a country 'Squire;
And you will see how I prepare An opiate for mercantile care.
In learned labours some proceed, But I prefer the racing steed:
Some to Ambition's heights ascend; I to the Racing-course attend:
In study, I ne'er wander far; Mine is the Racing-Calendar,
While with keen eye the Heralds see
The long trac'd line of ancestry, Give me a Horse's pedigree.
Others some pow'rful station boast; But let me gain the winning-post.
It may be sweet with babes to play, But I prefer the Filly's neigh.
You talk of men of wit and parts, Of the deep sciences and arts;
Give me the science that will teach The knowing one to over-reach:
And, as for pictures and such things,
Which Taste from foreign countries brings;
A brood-mare, in maternal pride, With a colt trotting by her side,
Is to my eye more pleasing far Than Hero in triumphant car,
Or sea-born Venus weeping o'er Adonis, wounded by a boar.”
Syntax.—
“These points, good Sir, I can't discuss:
I know no steed but Pegasus.”
Mr. ---—
“Cut off his wings,—I've got a horse
Shall run him o'er the Beacon Course;
And, though Apollo should bestride him,
I'll back my horse—for I will ride him.”
Thus as he spoke, a row of trees, Which a full age had felt the breeze,
And half that time, at least, had made A long cathedral aisle of shade,
Appear'd in view, and mark'd the road
Which led to this brave 'Squire's abode,
Whose stately chambers soon possest The Doctor as a welcome guest.
The dinner came—a sumptuous treat; Nor did the parson fail to eat
In the same way he us'd to do— As much as any other two.
The cakes he munch'd—the wine he quaff'd,
His tale he told—the Ladies laugh'd;
And thus the merry moments pass'd, Till cap and slippers came at last.
At length his balmy slumbers o'er, Morn smil'd, as it had smil'd before,
And as, without our care or pain, It will not fail to smile again;
When Syntax, having prov'd as able At breakfast, as at dinner table,
Begg'd leave, with due respect, to say He must pursue his anxious way.
“Well,” said the 'Squire, “before you go,
I shall my stud of racers show.”
So off they went;—from stall to stall
He shew'd the steeds, and nam'd them all;
Describ'd their beauty and their birth;
Their well-earn'd fame and golden worth;
The various feats they all had done,
With plates which they had lost and won.
At length the astonish'd 'Squire saw Poor Grizzle to her girths in straw.
“That, Sir,” said Syntax, “is my steed;
But though I can't detail her breed,
I sure can tell what she has won—
Those scars by Frenchman's sabre done.
I cannot brag what she has cost; But you may see what she has lost.”
“Where,” said the 'Squire, “are her ears?”
Quoth Syntax, “You must ask the shears;
And now, perhaps, her switchy tail,
Hangs on a barn-door, from a nail!”
The Doctor then began to state Poor Grizzle's character and fate.
“Who was her dam, or who her sire,
I care not,” says the merry 'Squire:
“But well I know, and you shall see, Who will her noble husband be;
Yon fam'd grey horse, of Arab birth,
A princely steed, of nameless worth.”
“The match is very grand indeed,” Says Syntax, “but it won't succeed;
Our household is not form'd to breed.
My dearest Dorothy and I Have never had a progeny:
Our fortune has more wisely carv'd;
Had she borne babes they must have starv'd:
What should we do with such dear elves,
Who scarce know how to keep ourselves!”
“I'll hear no more,” the 'Squire replied;
“The scheme shall be this moment tried,
Grizzle shall be young Matchem's bride.
You are a very worthy man And may the depths of learning scan;
But in these things you're quite a dolt; You'll get a hundred for the colt.
I'll have my whim—it shall be carried:”—
So Grizzle was that morning married.
And half that time, at least, had made A long cathedral aisle of shade,
Appear'd in view, and mark'd the road
Which led to this brave 'Squire's abode,
Whose stately chambers soon possest The Doctor as a welcome guest.
The dinner came—a sumptuous treat; Nor did the parson fail to eat
In the same way he us'd to do— As much as any other two.
The cakes he munch'd—the wine he quaff'd,
His tale he told—the Ladies laugh'd;
And thus the merry moments pass'd, Till cap and slippers came at last.
At length his balmy slumbers o'er, Morn smil'd, as it had smil'd before,
And as, without our care or pain, It will not fail to smile again;
79
Begg'd leave, with due respect, to say He must pursue his anxious way.
“Well,” said the 'Squire, “before you go,
I shall my stud of racers show.”
So off they went;—from stall to stall
He shew'd the steeds, and nam'd them all;
Describ'd their beauty and their birth;
Their well-earn'd fame and golden worth;
The various feats they all had done,
With plates which they had lost and won.
At length the astonish'd 'Squire saw Poor Grizzle to her girths in straw.
“That, Sir,” said Syntax, “is my steed;
But though I can't detail her breed,
I sure can tell what she has won—
Those scars by Frenchman's sabre done.
I cannot brag what she has cost; But you may see what she has lost.”
“Where,” said the 'Squire, “are her ears?”
Quoth Syntax, “You must ask the shears;
And now, perhaps, her switchy tail,
Hangs on a barn-door, from a nail!”
The Doctor then began to state Poor Grizzle's character and fate.
“Who was her dam, or who her sire,
I care not,” says the merry 'Squire:
“But well I know, and you shall see, Who will her noble husband be;
Yon fam'd grey horse, of Arab birth,
A princely steed, of nameless worth.”
“The match is very grand indeed,” Says Syntax, “but it won't succeed;
Our household is not form'd to breed.
My dearest Dorothy and I Have never had a progeny:
Our fortune has more wisely carv'd;
Had she borne babes they must have starv'd:
What should we do with such dear elves,
Who scarce know how to keep ourselves!”
“I'll hear no more,” the 'Squire replied;
“The scheme shall be this moment tried,
Grizzle shall be young Matchem's bride.
You are a very worthy man And may the depths of learning scan;
But in these things you're quite a dolt; You'll get a hundred for the colt.
I'll have my whim—it shall be carried:”—
So Grizzle was that morning married.
And now the 'Squire invites the stay Of Syntax for another day.
“Your mare,” he said, “we'll onward send,
Ty'd to the London waggon's end;
When she's got forty miles, or more, We'll follow in a chaise-and-four:
At the Dun Cow, upon the road, Grizzle shall safely be bestow'd;
And there, my friend, or soon or late, Her master's coming may await:
You'll neither lose nor time nor space—
Your way I'm going to a race,
Where I've a famous horse to run; And if you do not like the fun,
Why you may then proceed to town With my best wishes that renown
And profit may your labours crown.
To-morrow, by the close of day, We shall find Grizzle on the way.”
“Just as you please,” the Doctor said;
“Your kind commands shall be obey'd:
I think myself supremely bless'd By noble minds to be caress'd:
The kind protection you impart Pours oil of gladness on my heart.”
“Your mare,” he said, “we'll onward send,
Ty'd to the London waggon's end;
When she's got forty miles, or more, We'll follow in a chaise-and-four:
At the Dun Cow, upon the road, Grizzle shall safely be bestow'd;
And there, my friend, or soon or late, Her master's coming may await:
You'll neither lose nor time nor space—
Your way I'm going to a race,
Where I've a famous horse to run; And if you do not like the fun,
Why you may then proceed to town With my best wishes that renown
And profit may your labours crown.
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“Just as you please,” the Doctor said;
“Your kind commands shall be obey'd:
I think myself supremely bless'd By noble minds to be caress'd:
The kind protection you impart Pours oil of gladness on my heart.”
The Ladies now desir'd to see His journey's pictur'd history:
The book he show'd, which prov'd a bribe
For those kind fair-ones to subscribe;
And, while they felt the gen'rous pleasure
Of adding to his growing treasure,
The 'Squire, to keep the joke alive, Had bade his stable folk contrive,
Ere the good Doctor's Grizzle-mare Was yielded to the carrier's care;
Ere on her voyage she set sail, To furnish her with ears and tail.
Grizzle was soon a crop no more, As she had been some weeks before,
Nor was it long before her stump Felt all the honours of the rump:
And thus equipp'd with specious art,
She pac'd behind the carrier's cart.
Their breakfast done, the following day,
The 'Squire and Syntax bounc'd away;
And, ere the sun had set at eve, The Dun Cow did the sage receive;
Where Grizzle, her day's journey o'er, Had a short time arriv'd before.
The book he show'd, which prov'd a bribe
For those kind fair-ones to subscribe;
And, while they felt the gen'rous pleasure
Of adding to his growing treasure,
The 'Squire, to keep the joke alive, Had bade his stable folk contrive,
Ere the good Doctor's Grizzle-mare Was yielded to the carrier's care;
Ere on her voyage she set sail, To furnish her with ears and tail.
Grizzle was soon a crop no more, As she had been some weeks before,
Nor was it long before her stump Felt all the honours of the rump:
And thus equipp'd with specious art,
She pac'd behind the carrier's cart.
Their breakfast done, the following day,
The 'Squire and Syntax bounc'd away;
And, ere the sun had set at eve, The Dun Cow did the sage receive;
Where Grizzle, her day's journey o'er, Had a short time arriv'd before.
Syntax now felt a strong desire, To smoke his pipe by kitchen fire,
Where many a country neighbour sat, Nor did he fail to join the chat;
When having supp'd and drank his ale
And silence seeming to prevail,
He slowly from his pocket took, His trav'lling memorandum book;
And, as he turn'd the pages o'er, Revolving on their curious lore,
Th'exciseman, a right village sage,
(For he could cast accounts and gage)
Spoke for the rest—who would be proud
To hear his rev'rence read aloud.
He bow'd assent and straight began To state what beauty is in man;
Or on the surface of the earth, Or what finds, in its entrails, birth;
With all things in their due degrees, That live in air, or love the seas;
In all the trees and plants that grow,
In all the various flowers that blow;
Of all things in the realm of nature,
Or senseless forms, or living creature:
In short, he thus profess'd to show Through all the vast expanse below,
From what concenter'd state of things
The varying form of beauty springs.
But as he read, though full of grace,
Though strong expression mark'd his face,
Though his feet struck the sounding floor,
And his voice thunder'd through the door,
Each hearer, as th'infection crept
O'er the numb'd sense, unconscious slept!
One dropp'd his pipe—another snor'd, His bed of down an oaken board;
The cobler yawn'd then sunk to rest, His chin reclining on his breast:
All slept at length but Tom and Sue,
For they had something else to do.
Syntax heard nought; the enraptur'd elf
Saw and heard nothing but himself:
But when a swineherd's bugle sounded,
The Doctor, then, amaz'd—confounded,
Beheld the death-like scene about him;
And thinking it was form'd to flout him,
He frown'd disdain—then struck his head,
Caught up a light, and rush'd to bed.
Where many a country neighbour sat, Nor did he fail to join the chat;
When having supp'd and drank his ale
And silence seeming to prevail,
He slowly from his pocket took, His trav'lling memorandum book;
And, as he turn'd the pages o'er, Revolving on their curious lore,
Th'exciseman, a right village sage,
(For he could cast accounts and gage)
Spoke for the rest—who would be proud
To hear his rev'rence read aloud.
He bow'd assent and straight began To state what beauty is in man;
Or on the surface of the earth, Or what finds, in its entrails, birth;
With all things in their due degrees, That live in air, or love the seas;
In all the trees and plants that grow,
In all the various flowers that blow;
Of all things in the realm of nature,
Or senseless forms, or living creature:
In short, he thus profess'd to show Through all the vast expanse below,
From what concenter'd state of things
The varying form of beauty springs.
But as he read, though full of grace,
Though strong expression mark'd his face,
Though his feet struck the sounding floor,
And his voice thunder'd through the door,
Each hearer, as th'infection crept
O'er the numb'd sense, unconscious slept!
One dropp'd his pipe—another snor'd, His bed of down an oaken board;
The cobler yawn'd then sunk to rest, His chin reclining on his breast:
All slept at length but Tom and Sue,
For they had something else to do.
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Saw and heard nothing but himself:
But when a swineherd's bugle sounded,
The Doctor, then, amaz'd—confounded,
Beheld the death-like scene about him;
And thinking it was form'd to flout him,
He frown'd disdain—then struck his head,
Caught up a light, and rush'd to bed.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |