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 Smoking Soliloquy.
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 | The three tours of Doctor Syntax |  |
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.
115
“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.
117
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.
118
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.”
119
“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.
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |