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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| XXVI. | CANTO XXVI. |
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
CANTO XXVI.
Crown'd with success, the following dayThe Doctor homeward took his way;
And on the 'morrow, he again Was borne by Grizzle o'er the plain.
But Grizzle, having liv'd in clover, Symptoms of spirit did discover,
That more than once had nearly thrown
Her deep-reflecting master down;
Nor, till they'd travell'd half the day, Did he perceive he'd lost his way:
Nor, to that moment, did he find, That Grizzle, by some chance unkind,
Had left her ears and tail behind.
“Ne'er mind, good beast,” he kindly said;
“What though no ears bedeck your head;
What though the honours of your rump, Are dwindled to a naked stump,
Now, rais'd in purse as well as spirit,
Your master will reward your merit.”
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Some days before, (I had forgot To say,) a letter had been wrote,
To tell how soon he should appear, And re-embrace his dearest dear;
But not one solitary word Of his good fortune he preferr'd.
“Yes, home is home, where'er it be, Or shaded by the village-tree,
Or where the lofty domes arise To catch the passing stranger's eyes.”
'Twas thus he thought, when, at the gate
He saw his Doll impatient wait;
Nor as he pass'd the street along, Was he unnotic'd by the throng;
For not a head within a shop But did through door or widow pop.
He kiss'd his Dame, and gravely spoke As now he brooded o'er a joke;
While she to know impatient burn'd With how much money he return'd.
“Give me my pipe,” he said, “and ale,
And in due time you'll hear the tale.”
He sat him down his pipe to smoke,
Look'd sad, and not a word he spoke;
But Madam soon her speech began, And in discordant tones it ran.
“I think, by that confounded look,
You have not writ your boasted book;
Yes, all your money you have spent,
And come back poorer than you went:
Yes, you have wander'd far from home, And here a beggar you are come:
But bills from all sides are in waiting, To give your Reverence a baiting;
I do not mean to scold and rail; But I'll not live with you in jail.
So long a time you've staid away, That the Town-Curate you must pay,
For, while from home you play'd the fool,
He kindly came to teach the school;
And a few welcome pounds to earn
By flogging boys to make them learn:
But I must say you silly elf, You merit to be flogged yourself;
And I've a mind this whip shall crack Upon your raw-bon'd lazy back.
Yes, puff away—but 'tis no joke For all my schemes to end in smoke.
What, tongue-ty'd booby! will you say
To Mrs. Dress'em?—Who will pay
Her bills for these nice clothes?—Why zounds!
It borders upon twenty pounds.”
Thus, as she vehemently prated, And the delighted Doctor rated,
From a small pocket in his coat, He unobserv'd drew forth a note,
And throwing it upon the table, He said, “My dear, you'll now be able
To keep your mantua-maker quiet; So cease, I beg this idle riot:
And, if you'll not make such a pother, I'll treat you with its very brother:
Be kind—and I'll not think it much To shew you half-a-dozen such.”
She started up in joy's alarms, And clasp'd the Doctor in her arms;
Then ran to bid the boys huzza, And gave them all a holiday.
“Such is the matrimonial life,” Said Syntax;—“but, I love my wife.
Just now with horsewhip I was bother'd;
And now with hugging I am smother'd;
But wheresoe'r I'm doom'd to roam, I still shall say—that home is home!”
Again her dear the Dame caress'd,
And clasp'd him fondly to her breast:
At length, amidst her am'rous play, The Doctor found a time to say—
114
To welcome Syntax home again:”
“No,” she reply'd, “no fatted calf; We have a better thing by half;
For with expectation big Of your return we kill'd a pig;
And a rich Haslet at the fire, Will give you all you can desire;
The sav'ry meat myself will baste, And suit it to my deary's taste.”
“That dish,” he cried, “I'd rather see, Than Fricandeau or Fricassee.
O,” he continued, “what a blessing
To have a wife so fond of dressing;
Who with such taste and skill can work,
To dress herself and dress the pork!”
She now return'd to household care, The dainty supper to prepare.
Whoe'er has pass'd an idle hour,
In following Syntax through his Tour,
Must have perceiv'd he did not balk His fancy, when he wish'd to talk:
Nay, more—that he was often prone
To make long speeches when alone;
And while he quaff'd th'inspiring ale, Between each glass to tell a tale:
Or, as he smok'd with half-shut eyes,
Now smiling, and now looking-wise,
He'd crack a joke, or moralize:
And when the curious spirit stirr'd him,
He minded not though no one heard him.
This he did now—as 'twill appear;
He talk'd though there were none to hear,
When the whiffs pass'd he silence broke,
And thus he thought, and puff'd, and spoke.
The Smoking Soliloquy.
“That man, I trow, is doubly curst,
Who of the best doth make the worst;
And he, I'm sure is doubly blest, Who of the worst can make the best:
To sit and sorrow and complain, Is adding folly to our pain.
Who of the best doth make the worst;
And he, I'm sure is doubly blest, Who of the worst can make the best:
To sit and sorrow and complain, Is adding folly to our pain.
“In adverse state there is no vice, More mischievous than cowardice;
'Tis by resistance that we claim The Christian's venerable name.
If you resist him, e'en Old Nick Gives up his meditated trick:
Fortune contemns the whining slave, And loves to smile upon the brave.
“In all this self-same chequer'd strife
We meet with in the road of life,
Whate'er the object we pursue, There's always something to subdue;
Some foe, alas! to evil prone, In others' bosoms or our own.
That man, alone, is truly great, Who nobly meets the frowns of Fate;
Who, when the threat'ning tempests lower,
When the clouds burst in pelting shower,
When lightnings flash along the sky
And thunders growl in sympathy,
With calmness to the sea conforms,
Nor fears nor mocks the angry storms:
He does not run, all helter skelter, To seek a temporary shelter;
Nor does he fume and fret and foam,
Because he's distant far from home;
For well he knows each peril past, He's sure to find a home at last.
'Tis by resistance that we claim The Christian's venerable name.
If you resist him, e'en Old Nick Gives up his meditated trick:
Fortune contemns the whining slave, And loves to smile upon the brave.
“In all this self-same chequer'd strife
We meet with in the road of life,
Whate'er the object we pursue, There's always something to subdue;
Some foe, alas! to evil prone, In others' bosoms or our own.
That man, alone, is truly great, Who nobly meets the frowns of Fate;
Who, when the threat'ning tempests lower,
When the clouds burst in pelting shower,
When lightnings flash along the sky
And thunders growl in sympathy,
With calmness to the sea conforms,
Nor fears nor mocks the angry storms:
He does not run, all helter skelter, To seek a temporary shelter;
Nor does he fume and fret and foam,
Because he's distant far from home;
For well he knows each peril past, He's sure to find a home at last.
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“If petty evils round you swarm, Let not their buzz your temper warm,
But brush them from your mind away, Like insects on a summer's day.
“Evil oppose with reason's power
Nor fear the dark or threat'ning hour;
Combat the world;—but, as 'tis fit, To the decrees of Heaven submit.
“If spite and Malice are your foes,
If fell revenge its arrow throws,
Look calmly on nor fear the dart; Virtue will guard the honest heart;
Nor let your angry spirit burn The pointed missile to return.
The good man never fails to wield
A broad and strong protecting shield,
That will preserve him through the strife
Which never fails to trouble life;
And, when he meets his final doom, Will form a trophy for his tomb.
But brush them from your mind away, Like insects on a summer's day.
“Evil oppose with reason's power
Nor fear the dark or threat'ning hour;
Combat the world;—but, as 'tis fit, To the decrees of Heaven submit.
“If spite and Malice are your foes,
If fell revenge its arrow throws,
Look calmly on nor fear the dart; Virtue will guard the honest heart;
Nor let your angry spirit burn The pointed missile to return.
The good man never fails to wield
A broad and strong protecting shield,
That will preserve him through the strife
Which never fails to trouble life;
And, when he meets his final doom, Will form a trophy for his tomb.
“Bear and forbear—a dogma true As human wisdom ever drew.
If you would lighten every care, And every sorrow learn to bear,
To be secure from vile disgrace, Look frowning Fortune in the face;
And, if the foe's too strong, retreat, But not as if you had been beat:
Calmly avoid th'o'erpowring fray, Nor fight when you can stalk away;
For you can scarce be said to yield,
If, when you slowly quit the field,
You so present yourself to view, That a wise foe will not pursue.
“I who have long been doom'd to drudge,
Without a patron or a judge;
I, who have seen the booby rise To dignified pluralities;
While I his flock to virtue steer, For hard-earn'd thirty pounds a-year;
A flock, alas! he does not know, But by the fleeces they bestow:
I, who have borne the heaviest fate That doth on Learning's toil await;
For, when a man's the sport of Heaven,
To keep a school the fellow's driven;
(Nor when that thought gay Lucian spoke,
He did not mean to crack a joke;—)
I still man's dignity maintain'd, And though I felt, I ne'er complain'd!
If you would lighten every care, And every sorrow learn to bear,
To be secure from vile disgrace, Look frowning Fortune in the face;
And, if the foe's too strong, retreat, But not as if you had been beat:
Calmly avoid th'o'erpowring fray, Nor fight when you can stalk away;
For you can scarce be said to yield,
If, when you slowly quit the field,
You so present yourself to view, That a wise foe will not pursue.
“I who have long been doom'd to drudge,
Without a patron or a judge;
I, who have seen the booby rise To dignified pluralities;
While I his flock to virtue steer, For hard-earn'd thirty pounds a-year;
A flock, alas! he does not know, But by the fleeces they bestow:
I, who have borne the heaviest fate That doth on Learning's toil await;
For, when a man's the sport of Heaven,
To keep a school the fellow's driven;
(Nor when that thought gay Lucian spoke,
He did not mean to crack a joke;—)
I still man's dignity maintain'd, And though I felt, I ne'er complain'd!
“If Life's a farce, mere children's play, Let the rich trifle it away:
I cannot model mine by theirs, For mine has been a life of cares.
I cannot model mine by theirs, For mine has been a life of cares.
“Men with superior minds endow'd May soar about the titled crowd,
Though 'tis their humble lot to dwell In calm retirement's distant cell;
Or, by Dame Fortune poorly fed, To call on science for their bread;
To lead the life that I have led:—
Though neither wealth nor state is given,
They're the Nobility of Heaven.
Though 'tis their humble lot to dwell In calm retirement's distant cell;
Or, by Dame Fortune poorly fed, To call on science for their bread;
To lead the life that I have led:—
Though neither wealth nor state is given,
They're the Nobility of Heaven.
“In its caprice a Sovereign's power May make a noble ev'ry hour:
A King may only speak the word,
And some rich blockhead struts a Lord;
But all the scepter'd powers that live Cannot one ray of genius give.
Heaven and Nature must combine To make the flame of genius shine:
Of wealth regardless or degree, It may be sent to shine on me.
Learning I thank thee!—though by toil
And the pale lamp of midnight oil
I gain'd thy smiles; though many a year
Fortune refus'd my heart to cheer;
By th'inspiring laurels crown'd,
I oft could smile while Fortune frown'd!
Beguil'd by thee, I oft forgot My uncomb'd wig and rusty coat;
When coals were dear, and low my fire,
I warm'd myself with Homer's lyre:
Or, in a dearth of ale benign, I eager quaff'd the stream divine,
Which flows in Virgil's ev'ry line.
To save me from domestic brawls, I thunder'd Tully to the walls:
When nought I did could Dolly please, I laugh'd with Aristophanes,—
And oft has Grizzle on our way, Heard me from Horace smart and gay.
“Though with the world I struggled hard,
Virtue my best but sole reward;
When my whole income could but keep
The wolf from preying on the sheep:
Ne'er would I change my classic store
For all that Crœsus had, or more;
Nor would I lose what I have read,
Though tempting Fortune, in its stead,
Would shower down mitres on my head!
A King may only speak the word,
And some rich blockhead struts a Lord;
But all the scepter'd powers that live Cannot one ray of genius give.
Heaven and Nature must combine To make the flame of genius shine:
Of wealth regardless or degree, It may be sent to shine on me.
Learning I thank thee!—though by toil
And the pale lamp of midnight oil
I gain'd thy smiles; though many a year
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By th'inspiring laurels crown'd,
I oft could smile while Fortune frown'd!
Beguil'd by thee, I oft forgot My uncomb'd wig and rusty coat;
When coals were dear, and low my fire,
I warm'd myself with Homer's lyre:
Or, in a dearth of ale benign, I eager quaff'd the stream divine,
Which flows in Virgil's ev'ry line.
To save me from domestic brawls, I thunder'd Tully to the walls:
When nought I did could Dolly please, I laugh'd with Aristophanes,—
And oft has Grizzle on our way, Heard me from Horace smart and gay.
“Though with the world I struggled hard,
Virtue my best but sole reward;
When my whole income could but keep
The wolf from preying on the sheep:
Ne'er would I change my classic store
For all that Crœsus had, or more;
Nor would I lose what I have read,
Though tempting Fortune, in its stead,
Would shower down mitres on my head!
“Bear and Forbear,—an adage true As human wisdom ever drew!
That this I've practis'd through my life, I have a witness in my wife;
For though she'd sometimes snarl and scold,
I never would a parley hold;
And when she, though but seldom, swore,
I check'd the oath, but said no more, And all returning taunts forbore.
I dress'd my spirits from the pages
Of learned Dons and ancient Sages;
But my lean form was never smart From barber's skill or tailor's art;
So that my figure was a joke For all the town and country folk:
But this my feelings never griev'd,
And I with smiles their smiles receiv'd;
I ne'er retorted, like a fool, Their inoffensive ridicule.
“So that my Dolly's clothes were fine,
She never car'd a doit for mine:
So that on ev'ry Sabbath-day, She could appear in trappings gay,
And in a pew her form display,
She'd let me walk about the town,
Till my black coat was almost brown:
But, she was, I cannot deny, The soul of notability.
She struggled hard to save the pelf;
And, though she might except herself,
I do believe, upon my word, To all things Syntax was preferr'd.
“Bear and forbear, I've thought and said,
Is part of ev'ery Parson's trade;
And what he doth to others preach, He should by his example teach.
Whene'er the scoffer trotted by, I ne'er have turn'd an angry eye:
Nay, when of Wealth I've been the jeer,
When petty pride let loose a sneer,
I never fail'd the joke to join, And paid them off in classic coin.
That this I've practis'd through my life, I have a witness in my wife;
For though she'd sometimes snarl and scold,
I never would a parley hold;
And when she, though but seldom, swore,
I check'd the oath, but said no more, And all returning taunts forbore.
I dress'd my spirits from the pages
Of learned Dons and ancient Sages;
But my lean form was never smart From barber's skill or tailor's art;
So that my figure was a joke For all the town and country folk:
But this my feelings never griev'd,
And I with smiles their smiles receiv'd;
I ne'er retorted, like a fool, Their inoffensive ridicule.
“So that my Dolly's clothes were fine,
She never car'd a doit for mine:
So that on ev'ry Sabbath-day, She could appear in trappings gay,
And in a pew her form display,
She'd let me walk about the town,
Till my black coat was almost brown:
But, she was, I cannot deny, The soul of notability.
She struggled hard to save the pelf;
And, though she might except herself,
I do believe, upon my word, To all things Syntax was preferr'd.
“Bear and forbear, I've thought and said,
Is part of ev'ery Parson's trade;
And what he doth to others preach, He should by his example teach.
Whene'er the scoffer trotted by, I ne'er have turn'd an angry eye:
Nay, when of Wealth I've been the jeer,
When petty pride let loose a sneer,
I never fail'd the joke to join, And paid them off in classic coin.
“My Rector, fat as fat can be, With prebend stall, and livings three,
Once told me, if I kept my riches Within the pockets of my breeches,
To make them of materials stout,
Or else the weight would wear them out.
O, with what base irreverent glee He chose to mock my poverty!
Yet I did not my cloth disgrace By squirting spittle in his face;
But answer'd from St. Paul, in Greek, And bid him the quotation seek
In Pliny:—When the purse-proud brute
Nodded assent—and then was mute.
“The Oilman there, in that fine house,
Who boasts th'escutcheons of his spouse,
Soon after he had left off trade, Lov'd some great noble Lady's maid,
Who by my Lord had been betray'd:
To Hymen's Fane the fair he led, And gave the claim to half his bed:
She talks of Duchesses by dozens, As if they were her cater-cousins.
He once said—‘Doctor, do you see?
Let's hear what is your pedigree;’—
When I, with rev'rence due replied, ‘I am not to the great allied;
But yet I've heard my grandame say,
(Though many a year has pass'd away
Since she is gone where all must go,
Whether they have been high or low),
That one of our forefathers bore A place of state in days of yore;
That he was butler or purveyor, Or trumpeter to some Lord Mayor,
When Carthagenian Hannibal Dined with his Lordship at Guildhall:
That great man being forc'd to come, By order of the Pope of Rome,
To end some quarrel 'tween the houses
That bore the pale and crimson roses.’
The Oilman said, ‘It might be so; And 'twas a monstrous while ago.’
“'Tis thus I give these fools a poke,
And foil their tauntings with a joke;
For that man has no claim to sense,
Whose blood boils at impertinence.
Were I to scourge each fool I meet, I ne'er must go into the street;
I ne'er my bearded head must pop Into the chatt'ring barber's shop.
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To make them of materials stout,
Or else the weight would wear them out.
O, with what base irreverent glee He chose to mock my poverty!
Yet I did not my cloth disgrace By squirting spittle in his face;
But answer'd from St. Paul, in Greek, And bid him the quotation seek
In Pliny:—When the purse-proud brute
Nodded assent—and then was mute.
“The Oilman there, in that fine house,
Who boasts th'escutcheons of his spouse,
Soon after he had left off trade, Lov'd some great noble Lady's maid,
Who by my Lord had been betray'd:
To Hymen's Fane the fair he led, And gave the claim to half his bed:
She talks of Duchesses by dozens, As if they were her cater-cousins.
He once said—‘Doctor, do you see?
Let's hear what is your pedigree;’—
When I, with rev'rence due replied, ‘I am not to the great allied;
But yet I've heard my grandame say,
(Though many a year has pass'd away
Since she is gone where all must go,
Whether they have been high or low),
That one of our forefathers bore A place of state in days of yore;
That he was butler or purveyor, Or trumpeter to some Lord Mayor,
When Carthagenian Hannibal Dined with his Lordship at Guildhall:
That great man being forc'd to come, By order of the Pope of Rome,
To end some quarrel 'tween the houses
That bore the pale and crimson roses.’
The Oilman said, ‘It might be so; And 'twas a monstrous while ago.’
“'Tis thus I give these fools a poke,
And foil their tauntings with a joke;
For that man has no claim to sense,
Whose blood boils at impertinence.
Were I to scourge each fool I meet, I ne'er must go into the street;
I ne'er my bearded head must pop Into the chatt'ring barber's shop.
“Bear and forbear—a maxim true As erring mortals ever knew.
But things are chang'd; new scenes appear
My mind to soothe, my heart to cheer;
The Pow'rs above my fate regard, And give my patience its reward.
But while I trod Life's rugged road, While troubles haunted my abode,
With not an omen to portend
That toil would cease, that things would mend,
I did to my allotment bow, And smok'd my pipe as I do now.
But things are chang'd; new scenes appear
My mind to soothe, my heart to cheer;
The Pow'rs above my fate regard, And give my patience its reward.
But while I trod Life's rugged road, While troubles haunted my abode,
With not an omen to portend
That toil would cease, that things would mend,
I did to my allotment bow, And smok'd my pipe as I do now.
“Hail social tube! thou foe to Care! Companion of my easy chair!
Form'd not, with cold and Stoic art,
To harden, but to soothe the heart!
For BACON, a much wiser man Than any of the Stoic clan,
Declares thy power to controul Each fretful impulse of the soul;
And SWIFT has said, (a splendid name,
On the large sphere of mortal fame,)
That he who daily smokes two pipes
The tooth-ache never has—nor gripes.
With these, in silence calm and still, My Dolly's tones, no longer shrill,
Though meant to speak reproach and sneer,
Pass'd in soft cadence to my ear.
Calm Contemplation comes with thee,
And the mild maid,—Philosophy!
Lost in the thoughts which you suggest
To the full counsel of my breast,
My books all slumb'ring on the shelf, I thus can commune with myself;
Thus to myself my thoughts repeat; Thus moralize on what is great,
And, ev'ry selfish wish subdu'd, Cherish the sense of what is good.
Form'd not, with cold and Stoic art,
To harden, but to soothe the heart!
For BACON, a much wiser man Than any of the Stoic clan,
Declares thy power to controul Each fretful impulse of the soul;
And SWIFT has said, (a splendid name,
On the large sphere of mortal fame,)
That he who daily smokes two pipes
The tooth-ache never has—nor gripes.
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Though meant to speak reproach and sneer,
Pass'd in soft cadence to my ear.
Calm Contemplation comes with thee,
And the mild maid,—Philosophy!
Lost in the thoughts which you suggest
To the full counsel of my breast,
My books all slumb'ring on the shelf, I thus can commune with myself;
Thus to myself my thoughts repeat; Thus moralize on what is great,
And, ev'ry selfish wish subdu'd, Cherish the sense of what is good.
“While I thy grateful breath inhale, I see the cheering cup of ale;
Benignant juice; Lethean stream! That aids the fond oblivious dream;
Which fits the freshen'd mind to bear The burden of returning care.
Benignant juice; Lethean stream! That aids the fond oblivious dream;
Which fits the freshen'd mind to bear The burden of returning care.
“Let Pride's loose sons prolong the night In Bacchanalian delight;
I envy not their jovial noise, Their mirth, and mad, intemp'rate joys.
The luscious wines that Spain can boast, Or grow on Lusitanian coast,
Ne'er fill'd my cups:—Repast divine!
The home-brew'd beverage is mine.
Thus, cheer'd with hopes of happier days,
My grateful lips declare thy praise.
How oft I've felt, in adverse hour, The comforts of thy soothing power!
Nor will I now forget my friend,
When my foul fortune seems to mend:
Yes, I would smoke as I do now,
Though a proud mitre deck'd my brow.
I envy not their jovial noise, Their mirth, and mad, intemp'rate joys.
The luscious wines that Spain can boast, Or grow on Lusitanian coast,
Ne'er fill'd my cups:—Repast divine!
The home-brew'd beverage is mine.
Thus, cheer'd with hopes of happier days,
My grateful lips declare thy praise.
How oft I've felt, in adverse hour, The comforts of thy soothing power!
Nor will I now forget my friend,
When my foul fortune seems to mend:
Yes, I would smoke as I do now,
Though a proud mitre deck'd my brow.
“Hail, social tube! thou foe to care! Companion of my easy chair!
While, as the curling fumes arise, They seem th'ascending sacrifice
That's offer'd by my gratitude To the Great Father of the good.”
More had he spoke: but, lo! the Dame
With the appointed Haslet came:
When Syntax, having bless'd the meat, Sat down to the luxuriant treat.
“And now,” he said, “my dear, 'twill be As good as Burgundy to me.
If you will tell me what has pass'd
Since we embrac'd each other last.”
“O,” she replied, “my dearest love, Things in their usual order move.
Pray take a piece of this fine liver: The Rector is as proud as ever.
I'll help you, dear, to this or that: Let me supply your lean with fat.—
I thought the Oilman's wife would burst
When in this dress she saw me first;
It was at Church she show'd her airs;
My bonnet spoil'd the woman's prayers.
Your knife is blunt; here, take the steel:
Cut deep,—the Haslet cannot feel.—
There's Lawyer Graspall got a beating,
As you may well suppose,—for cheating:
Our honest Butcher trounc'd him well, As the Attorney's bones can tell.
He order'd home a rump of beef; And when it came the hungry thief,
Having shav'd off a pound or two Return'd it for it would not do,
The fraud discover'd words arose,
And they were follow'd soon by blows:
When, as he well deserv'd, the sinner Got a thrashing for his dinner.”
Said Syntax, “If I had a son,”—
“Pooh!” she reply'd, “you have not done:
You still, I hope, can pick a bit, And no excuse will I admit.
'Tis long since we've together been; Since we've each other's faces seen;
And surely, I'm not such a fright To make you lose your appetite.”
“But,” he continued, “if a boy Were, my dear Doll, to crown our joy,
I'd sooner, far, the stripling see The heir of dire Adversity,
Than to a dire Attorney bind him, Where old Nick is sure to find him.”
She added—“Yes, with naked feet I'd sooner have him pace the street;
But e'er you let your choler burst, Let's have the little Urchin first.”
The Doctor thought his jolly wife
Ne'er look'd so handsome in her life.
Her voice he thought grown wond'rous sweet;
To him a most uncommon treat,
So much in tune, it made him long To hear it quiver in a song.
“Come, sing, my charmer,” Syntax said,
And thus the simp'ring dame obey'd.
While, as the curling fumes arise, They seem th'ascending sacrifice
That's offer'd by my gratitude To the Great Father of the good.”
More had he spoke: but, lo! the Dame
With the appointed Haslet came:
When Syntax, having bless'd the meat, Sat down to the luxuriant treat.
“And now,” he said, “my dear, 'twill be As good as Burgundy to me.
If you will tell me what has pass'd
Since we embrac'd each other last.”
“O,” she replied, “my dearest love, Things in their usual order move.
Pray take a piece of this fine liver: The Rector is as proud as ever.
I'll help you, dear, to this or that: Let me supply your lean with fat.—
I thought the Oilman's wife would burst
When in this dress she saw me first;
It was at Church she show'd her airs;
My bonnet spoil'd the woman's prayers.
Your knife is blunt; here, take the steel:
Cut deep,—the Haslet cannot feel.—
There's Lawyer Graspall got a beating,
As you may well suppose,—for cheating:
Our honest Butcher trounc'd him well, As the Attorney's bones can tell.
He order'd home a rump of beef; And when it came the hungry thief,
Having shav'd off a pound or two Return'd it for it would not do,
The fraud discover'd words arose,
And they were follow'd soon by blows:
When, as he well deserv'd, the sinner Got a thrashing for his dinner.”
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“Pooh!” she reply'd, “you have not done:
You still, I hope, can pick a bit, And no excuse will I admit.
'Tis long since we've together been; Since we've each other's faces seen;
And surely, I'm not such a fright To make you lose your appetite.”
“But,” he continued, “if a boy Were, my dear Doll, to crown our joy,
I'd sooner, far, the stripling see The heir of dire Adversity,
Than to a dire Attorney bind him, Where old Nick is sure to find him.”
She added—“Yes, with naked feet I'd sooner have him pace the street;
But e'er you let your choler burst, Let's have the little Urchin first.”
The Doctor thought his jolly wife
Ne'er look'd so handsome in her life.
Her voice he thought grown wond'rous sweet;
To him a most uncommon treat,
So much in tune, it made him long To hear it quiver in a song.
“Come, sing, my charmer,” Syntax said,
And thus the simp'ring dame obey'd.
Song.
—“Haste to Dolly! haste away!
This is thine and Hymen's day!
Bid her thy soft bondage wear; Bid her for Love's rights prepare.
Let the nymphs with many a flower, Deck the sacred nuptial bower;
Thither lead the lovely fair, And let Cupid, too, be there.
This is thine and Hymen's day! Haste to Dolly! haste away!”
Thus pass'd the time; the morrow came,
And Mrs. Syntax was the same:
But when (for 'twas not done before)
She heard the Doctor's story o'er, With all the hopes he had in store;
By joy, by vanity subdu'd, Her warm embraces she renew'd;
While he, delighted, fondly kiss'd Those hands which, form'd into a fist,
Had often warn'd his eyes and nose
To turn from their tremendous blows.
At length, of golden ease possest,
No angry words, no frowns, molest;
No symptoms of domestic strife, Disturb'd their very alter'd life,
For she out-dress'd the Oilman's wife:
And he could now relieve the poor, Who sought his charitable door.
Though to each virtue often blind,
The world to wealth is ever kind:
For lo! a certain tell-tale dame, Yclep'd and known as Mistress Fame,
Had told to all the country round, That Syntax for a thousand pound
Had sold a learned book he wrote; That now he was a man of note,
By Lords protected! and that one Would make him tutor to his son.
So that, whenever he went forth, All paid their homage to his worth;
While it became the fond desire Of ev'ry neighb'ring rural 'Squire
To send his hopeful boys to share The favour of the Doctor's care.
But all these views soon found an end:
A packet came, and from a friend,
From 'Squire Worthy, who resides
On Keswick's bold and woody sides.
The wond'ring Postman made it known,
As he pass'd on, to all the town;
For such a letter ne'er had been Within his little circuit seen:
Nay, by the fiat of the Post, It more than seven shillings cost.
The Doctor star'd—while Ma'am unwilling,
Slowly drew forth each ling'ring shilling.
“Ne'er mind your silver,” Syntax said,
“The Postman, Deary, must be paid;
And now these papers I behold, I see they're worth their weight in gold:
Come, sit you down, and take good heed
To what I'm now about to read.”
This is thine and Hymen's day!
Bid her thy soft bondage wear; Bid her for Love's rights prepare.
Let the nymphs with many a flower, Deck the sacred nuptial bower;
Thither lead the lovely fair, And let Cupid, too, be there.
This is thine and Hymen's day! Haste to Dolly! haste away!”
Thus pass'd the time; the morrow came,
And Mrs. Syntax was the same:
But when (for 'twas not done before)
She heard the Doctor's story o'er, With all the hopes he had in store;
By joy, by vanity subdu'd, Her warm embraces she renew'd;
While he, delighted, fondly kiss'd Those hands which, form'd into a fist,
Had often warn'd his eyes and nose
To turn from their tremendous blows.
At length, of golden ease possest,
No angry words, no frowns, molest;
No symptoms of domestic strife, Disturb'd their very alter'd life,
For she out-dress'd the Oilman's wife:
And he could now relieve the poor, Who sought his charitable door.
Though to each virtue often blind,
The world to wealth is ever kind:
For lo! a certain tell-tale dame, Yclep'd and known as Mistress Fame,
Had told to all the country round, That Syntax for a thousand pound
Had sold a learned book he wrote; That now he was a man of note,
By Lords protected! and that one Would make him tutor to his son.
So that, whenever he went forth, All paid their homage to his worth;
While it became the fond desire Of ev'ry neighb'ring rural 'Squire
To send his hopeful boys to share The favour of the Doctor's care.
But all these views soon found an end:
A packet came, and from a friend,
From 'Squire Worthy, who resides
On Keswick's bold and woody sides.
The wond'ring Postman made it known,
As he pass'd on, to all the town;
120
Nay, by the fiat of the Post, It more than seven shillings cost.
The Doctor star'd—while Ma'am unwilling,
Slowly drew forth each ling'ring shilling.
“Ne'er mind your silver,” Syntax said,
“The Postman, Deary, must be paid;
And now these papers I behold, I see they're worth their weight in gold:
Come, sit you down, and take good heed
To what I'm now about to read.”
“Good Rev'rend Sir,
Our Vicar's dead And I have nam'd you in his stead.I often wish'd his neck he'd break, Or tumble drunk into the Lake;
So, you must know the poaching hound
Fulfill'd one wish—for he is drown'd.
Unfit for preaching or for praying, His merit lay in cudgel-playing:
And he preferr'd to saying prayers, The laying springes for the hares.
“You will perceive I keep my word,
And to this Church you're now preferr'd:
By ev'ry legal act and deed, To Parson Hairbrain you succeed:
The papers which you now receive, A right and full possession give.
You, Sir, may make the living clear
Above three hundred pounds a year;
And if you will but condescend To my son's learning to attend;
If you'll direct his studious hour, I'll add some fifty pounds or more:
Nay, soon we hope that you will cheer
The parish with your presence here.
Miss Worthy and her sister join Their kindest compliments to mine;
And to your prayers I recommend Your faithful and admiring friend,
Jonathan Worthy.”
The dame exclaim'd, “My Grecian boy,
I know not how to tell my joy.
This is the height of my desire:— 'Squire Worthy is a worthy 'Squire.”
“Ha, ha,” said Syntax, “O, the fun!
Why, Dolly, you have made a pun.
But still a pun I do detest, 'Tis such a paltry, humbug jest;
They who've least wit can make them best.
But you may frisk and pun away; I'm sure I cannot teach to-day,
So tell the boys to go and play.
Thank Heaven, that toil and trouble past,
My holidays are come at last!”
At length, the busy school resign'd,
They both rejoic'd to leave behind
A place which little had to give, Than the hard struggle how to live.
For the long journey to prepare, Syntax had bought a one-horse chair,
With harness for the grizzle-mare.
Ralph would not from his master part,
But trudg'd beside the trav'ling cart
That bore the Doctor's books and chattles,
With Madam's clothes and fiddle-faddles:
The cook upon the baggage rode, And added to the weighty load;
For she, kind maid, was fully bent To go wherever Ralpho went.
The Doctor walk'd about to tell
The day when he should say—farewell:
And they who had disdain'd before To pass the threshold of his door,
When Syntax gave his farewell treat,
Sought that same door to drink and eat.
The neighbours now, who never yet
Knew his great worth, his loss regret;
While Madam, on whom no good word
Had been, throughout the town, preferr'd,
Was now a most delightful creature,
Of temper mild,—of winning feature.
The Ringers, who for many a year, Refus'd his natal day to cheer,
Now made the bells, in woeful zeal,
Chime forth the dumb, lamenting peal.
—The time soon came, when, quite light-hearted,
The Doctor and his spouse departed:
And as they journey'd on their way, They did not fail to pass a day
At Oxford, with his early friend, The kind and learned Dicky Bend.
Nor did he think it a delay, The Christian Vicar to repay,
And 'neath his roof a night to stay;
To add, for former kindness shown, His Dolly's greeting to his own.
At York they also form'd the party,
For a whole week, of 'Squire Hearty.
A few days more, and, lo! the Lake
Did, on th'enraptur'd vision break:
When, rising 'mid the tufted trees, Syntax his sacred structure sees,
Whose tow'r appear'd in ancient pride,
With the warm Vic'rage by its side.
“At length, dear wife,” he said, “we're come
To our appointed, tranquil home.”
The courteous people lined the way,
And their rude, untaught homage pay:
The foremost of the assembled crowd,
The fat Exciseman, humbly bow'd:
“Welcome,” he said, “to Sommerden.”
The Clerk stood by, and cried “Amen!”
Grizzle dash'd boldly through the gate,
Where the kind 'Squire and ladies wait,
With kind embrace, with heart and hand,
To cheer them into Cumberland.
The bells rang loud, the boys huzza'd; The bonfire was in order laid;
The villagers their zeal display, And ale and crackers close the day.
I know not how to tell my joy.
This is the height of my desire:— 'Squire Worthy is a worthy 'Squire.”
“Ha, ha,” said Syntax, “O, the fun!
Why, Dolly, you have made a pun.
But still a pun I do detest, 'Tis such a paltry, humbug jest;
They who've least wit can make them best.
But you may frisk and pun away; I'm sure I cannot teach to-day,
So tell the boys to go and play.
Thank Heaven, that toil and trouble past,
My holidays are come at last!”
At length, the busy school resign'd,
They both rejoic'd to leave behind
A place which little had to give, Than the hard struggle how to live.
For the long journey to prepare, Syntax had bought a one-horse chair,
With harness for the grizzle-mare.
Ralph would not from his master part,
But trudg'd beside the trav'ling cart
That bore the Doctor's books and chattles,
With Madam's clothes and fiddle-faddles:
The cook upon the baggage rode, And added to the weighty load;
For she, kind maid, was fully bent To go wherever Ralpho went.
121
The day when he should say—farewell:
And they who had disdain'd before To pass the threshold of his door,
When Syntax gave his farewell treat,
Sought that same door to drink and eat.
The neighbours now, who never yet
Knew his great worth, his loss regret;
While Madam, on whom no good word
Had been, throughout the town, preferr'd,
Was now a most delightful creature,
Of temper mild,—of winning feature.
The Ringers, who for many a year, Refus'd his natal day to cheer,
Now made the bells, in woeful zeal,
Chime forth the dumb, lamenting peal.
—The time soon came, when, quite light-hearted,
The Doctor and his spouse departed:
And as they journey'd on their way, They did not fail to pass a day
At Oxford, with his early friend, The kind and learned Dicky Bend.
Nor did he think it a delay, The Christian Vicar to repay,
And 'neath his roof a night to stay;
To add, for former kindness shown, His Dolly's greeting to his own.
At York they also form'd the party,
For a whole week, of 'Squire Hearty.
A few days more, and, lo! the Lake
Did, on th'enraptur'd vision break:
When, rising 'mid the tufted trees, Syntax his sacred structure sees,
Whose tow'r appear'd in ancient pride,
With the warm Vic'rage by its side.
“At length, dear wife,” he said, “we're come
To our appointed, tranquil home.”
The courteous people lined the way,
And their rude, untaught homage pay:
The foremost of the assembled crowd,
The fat Exciseman, humbly bow'd:
“Welcome,” he said, “to Sommerden.”
The Clerk stood by, and cried “Amen!”
Grizzle dash'd boldly through the gate,
Where the kind 'Squire and ladies wait,
With kind embrace, with heart and hand,
To cheer them into Cumberland.
The bells rang loud, the boys huzza'd; The bonfire was in order laid;
The villagers their zeal display, And ale and crackers close the day.
Syntax, whom all desired to please, Enjoy'd his hours of learned ease;
Nor did he fail to preach and pray, To brighter worlds to point the way;
While his dear spouse was never seen
To shew ill-nature or the spleen;
And faithful Grizzle now no more Or drew a chaise, or rider bore.
Nor did he fail to preach and pray, To brighter worlds to point the way;
While his dear spouse was never seen
To shew ill-nature or the spleen;
And faithful Grizzle now no more Or drew a chaise, or rider bore.
Thus the good Parson, Horse, and Wife Led a most comfortable life.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |