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 |  |
“Excuse me, Sir,” the Critic said, “These Theatres are all a trade:
Their owners laugh at scrolls and friezes;
'Tis a full house, alone, that pleases:
And you must know, it is the plan To stick and stuff it as they can:
Your noble, architect'ral graces
Would take up room, and fill up places.”
“This may be true, Sir, to the letter;
But genius would have manag'd better,”
Syntax replied:—“Nay, I am willing
To let them gain the utmost shilling;
But surely talent might be found, (The natives, too, of British ground,)
Who could have blended attic merit With this proprietory spirit.”
Thus as he spoke, the curtain rose, And forced his harangue to a close:
But still, as they the drama view'd, The conversation was renew'd,
And lasted till the whole was o'er;
When, as they pass'd the Playhouse door,
The Critic said—“'Twill wound my heart
If you and I so soon must part:
O, how I long to crack a bottle With such a friend of Aristotle!
Now, as you seem to know him well, Perhaps his residence you'll tell.”
“Where it is now I do not know,” Syntax reply'd;—“and I must go;
But this I can most boldly say— You scarce will meet him at the play.”
When fairly got into the street, “O,” thought the Doctor, “what a treat
For my good Lord, when next we meet!”
Their owners laugh at scrolls and friezes;
'Tis a full house, alone, that pleases:
And you must know, it is the plan To stick and stuff it as they can:
Your noble, architect'ral graces
Would take up room, and fill up places.”
“This may be true, Sir, to the letter;
But genius would have manag'd better,”
Syntax replied:—“Nay, I am willing
To let them gain the utmost shilling;
But surely talent might be found, (The natives, too, of British ground,)
Who could have blended attic merit With this proprietory spirit.”
Thus as he spoke, the curtain rose, And forced his harangue to a close:
But still, as they the drama view'd, The conversation was renew'd,
And lasted till the whole was o'er;
When, as they pass'd the Playhouse door,
The Critic said—“'Twill wound my heart
If you and I so soon must part:
O, how I long to crack a bottle With such a friend of Aristotle!
Now, as you seem to know him well, Perhaps his residence you'll tell.”
“Where it is now I do not know,” Syntax reply'd;—“and I must go;
But this I can most boldly say— You scarce will meet him at the play.”
When fairly got into the street, “O,” thought the Doctor, “what a treat
For my good Lord, when next we meet!”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |