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 |  |
Patrick.—
“Since I left Ireland's blessed shore,
Since I through seas have travell'd o'er,
O what strange things my eyes have seen!
In what far countries I have been!
How I've been toss'd and tumbled o'er,
From land to sea, from sea to shore!
In how much blood my feet have wallow'd,
And what salt-water I have swallow'd!
What mighty battles have been fought,
Where Patrick did not pass for nought!
How many drums have I heard rattle
To call the eager troops to battle!
How many trumpets I've heard sound,
To call the prancing steeds around;
To bring the horsemen all together,
In brazen helms with horse-hair feather;
All in bright uniforms, as red As the warm blood they soon would shed.
'Twould do you good if you inherit An English or an Irish spirit,
To see a Hussar how he crops
The Frenchmen's heads like turnip-tops!
How many swords have I seen bright,
And glimm'ring in the morning's light,
That, ere the noon-tide hour was o'er,
Were steep'd in blood and dripp'd with gore!
You may not, my good friends, conceive it,
Or when I've spoke may not believe it,
But this right hand has cut off heads
With as much ease as it now spreads
This yielding butter on the toast. O what a host of lives are lost,
In all the horrid wear and tear Of that same sport which you call war,
When monarchs frown and nations jar!
Arrah, my Dears, it does confound me,
To think how many fell around me;
And that I, Patrick, should appear All safe and sound and sitting here.
Behold those lofty mountains there
That lift their heads so high in air,
Which through the glass my eye-sight sees;
O they're so like the Pyrenees!
They only want the Frenchmen flying,
Men shouting here, and there all dying:
Some dead and welt'ring in their blood,
And others floating down the flood.
If they were here I should maintain,
That we were fighting now in Spain:
If they were here with half an eye, They'd tell you so as well as I!
And were it, as my tongue has told me,
You a brave soldier would behold me;
Nor I at all, at all afraid, Or of the living or the dead:
And I, now here, I, honest Pat,
Would mind it all no more than that!”—
“Since I left Ireland's blessed shore,
Since I through seas have travell'd o'er,
O what strange things my eyes have seen!
In what far countries I have been!
How I've been toss'd and tumbled o'er,
From land to sea, from sea to shore!
In how much blood my feet have wallow'd,
And what salt-water I have swallow'd!
What mighty battles have been fought,
Where Patrick did not pass for nought!
How many drums have I heard rattle
To call the eager troops to battle!
How many trumpets I've heard sound,
To call the prancing steeds around;
157
In brazen helms with horse-hair feather;
All in bright uniforms, as red As the warm blood they soon would shed.
'Twould do you good if you inherit An English or an Irish spirit,
To see a Hussar how he crops
The Frenchmen's heads like turnip-tops!
How many swords have I seen bright,
And glimm'ring in the morning's light,
That, ere the noon-tide hour was o'er,
Were steep'd in blood and dripp'd with gore!
You may not, my good friends, conceive it,
Or when I've spoke may not believe it,
But this right hand has cut off heads
With as much ease as it now spreads
This yielding butter on the toast. O what a host of lives are lost,
In all the horrid wear and tear Of that same sport which you call war,
When monarchs frown and nations jar!
Arrah, my Dears, it does confound me,
To think how many fell around me;
And that I, Patrick, should appear All safe and sound and sitting here.
Behold those lofty mountains there
That lift their heads so high in air,
Which through the glass my eye-sight sees;
O they're so like the Pyrenees!
They only want the Frenchmen flying,
Men shouting here, and there all dying:
Some dead and welt'ring in their blood,
And others floating down the flood.
If they were here I should maintain,
That we were fighting now in Spain:
If they were here with half an eye, They'd tell you so as well as I!
And were it, as my tongue has told me,
You a brave soldier would behold me;
Nor I at all, at all afraid, Or of the living or the dead:
And I, now here, I, honest Pat,
Would mind it all no more than that!”—
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |