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 |  |
Syntax.—
“Is there among you, one whose age,
A long experienc'd, Gipsy sage,
Can from tradition's treasur'd store, Assist my wishes to explore
Your name, your origin, and why, In vagrant uniformity,
You live with all those joys at strife, Which tend to sweeten human life:
Who want and wretchedness prefer To man's all social character;
And while industrious habits give The means in honesty to live,
You breathe in idleness, and roam Without a house, without a home.
What are the means by which you thrive,
Gain health, and keep yourselves alive!
You are preparing all to eat; Tell me who thus provides the treat?
The fear of God, the love of man, Do not affect your savage clan:
The beadle's lash, the threats of law,
Alone can keep your minds in awe;
While penal chast'nings to evade, Is the grand scheme of Gipsy trade.
Besides, I'm told, with impious art You play the necromancer's part;
And e'en pretend with daring eye, To look into futurity:
Nay, thus presumptuous, seem to shew,
What mortals were not born to know;
Yet by quick tongue and shrewd grimaces,
And looks enliv'ning nut-brown faces,
You raise false hopes and idle fears
In the fool's breast, and call forth tears
From the poor mope, whom whimp'ring folly
Disturbs with simple melancholy.
The circle movement of the arm, A signal of th'expected charm;
An eager, penetrating eye, The artful smile, the ready lie,
To animate credulity;
Make up the curious receipt By which you frame the dear-bought cheat.
It is most strange the various tricks By which you do the attention fix,
Not merely of confiding youth, Who hear whate'er they wish as truth;
But e'en of sober minds, endued With a calm sense of what is good
Which, doubting, half believing, try A vagrant's skill in palmistry.
—Is it by systematic rule, Which you all learn in Gipsy school;
Or, from the moment's happy chance, You seize the boon of ignorance?
These things I fain would hear you tell
In a plain way without a spell.
Be candid, then, and no small gains, Shall instantly reward your pains.”
There now came forward from the wood,
Where he had all attention stood,
With grizzle beard, an aged man Who might be Patriarch of the Clan.
His face with deepest brown was dyed,
A gaping woman grac'd his side,
And, in quick tones he thus replied.
Gipsy.—
Syntax.—
“Do now, I pray, the truth reveal
If you don't borrow, don't you steal?
And as your people stroll along, Do they distinguish right from wrong?
Do they reflect on wrong or right, If they can get a dinner by't?
Nay, if your parties at a lift Should chance to take a shirt or shift,
Or purloin, as a useful pledge, The linen whit'ning on a hedge,
To mend the rags that hung about 'em,
Pray do your ancient customs scout 'em?
And do your younger people feel The elders' anger when they steal?
Or do they not receive applause, When stealing they evade the laws?
Say do you not the trick commend,
When you with hurried tongue pretend,
And ready, well-fram'd lies, to state Your knowledge of the book of fate;
And, with fallacious promise cheat Weak minds, to pay for the deceit?”
Gipsy.—
“I own, Sir, in the Gipsy brood,
That there are bad as well as good:
But is not this a common case, In ev'ry state, in ev'ry place;
And if the Gipsy breaks the law, He can no more escape its paw
Than any other who offends Against its object and its ends.
Do we alone then make a tool Of those who chuse to play the fool?
No, this same trick is often seen, Where Gipsy-folk have never been:
Where fashion's votaries resort, Or midst the splendor of a Court,
Or in the conflicts of the bar Where Lawyers wage their wordy war.
It is not Jack, it is not Joan, It is not humble folks alone,
Who willing come to try our art, And what our knowledge can impart:
It is not the deploring maid Whom village Strephon has betray'd;
Nor those alone, so lowly born,
Whom wealth and greatness treat with scorn,
Who to the Gipsy's haunts apply, For peeps into futurity.
—The heir will come who wants to know,
When his rich Dad will pass below:
Or Miss, when her old aunt shall die,
Whether a husband she may buy With the expected legacy.
Aye many of the tonish crowd The gay, the gallant, and the proud,
Nay those who self-conceited strut,
Will sometimes seek the Gipsy's hut.
How often I've been call'd to fix Attention in a coach and six.
And where, for what my wit has told,
My hand has oft been cross'd with gold.
Yes lovely, fair and courtly dames, And I could mention certain names,
Have come to me devoid of state To hear my tidings of their fate.
Smile not for know my art can scan
That you're a grave and learned man,
Who knows the world, and such as you,
Must own that what I say is true.
—If all, who play deceit for gain, Were forc'd to join the Gipsy train,
The world would share one common fate,
And thus its fortune I relate: The world would be one Gipsy state.
“But after all, how small our gain,
Expos'd to insult we remain, A wand'ring, persecuted train.
Still 'twould be vain for you to guess
Why clad in seeming wretchedness
We this strange mode of living chuse, And all your social good refuse:
But that's a branch of Gipsy art That nought will bribe us to impart.
That secret, all which you could pay Will never tempt us to betray.
Show me your hand and I will state Your fortune and your future fate:
But, wheresoe'er our lot is thrown, We never will unfold our own.”
The Doctor from his pocket drew
His purse, and random silver threw,
And as his waiting steeds he sought
He thus, in smiling silence, thought,
“He never may have been at school, But, faith, this fellow is no fool.”
“Is there among you, one whose age,
A long experienc'd, Gipsy sage,
Can from tradition's treasur'd store, Assist my wishes to explore
Your name, your origin, and why, In vagrant uniformity,
You live with all those joys at strife, Which tend to sweeten human life:
Who want and wretchedness prefer To man's all social character;
And while industrious habits give The means in honesty to live,
You breathe in idleness, and roam Without a house, without a home.
What are the means by which you thrive,
Gain health, and keep yourselves alive!
You are preparing all to eat; Tell me who thus provides the treat?
The fear of God, the love of man, Do not affect your savage clan:
The beadle's lash, the threats of law,
Alone can keep your minds in awe;
While penal chast'nings to evade, Is the grand scheme of Gipsy trade.
Besides, I'm told, with impious art You play the necromancer's part;
And e'en pretend with daring eye, To look into futurity:
Nay, thus presumptuous, seem to shew,
What mortals were not born to know;
Yet by quick tongue and shrewd grimaces,
And looks enliv'ning nut-brown faces,
You raise false hopes and idle fears
In the fool's breast, and call forth tears
From the poor mope, whom whimp'ring folly
Disturbs with simple melancholy.
The circle movement of the arm, A signal of th'expected charm;
An eager, penetrating eye, The artful smile, the ready lie,
To animate credulity;
Make up the curious receipt By which you frame the dear-bought cheat.
It is most strange the various tricks By which you do the attention fix,
Not merely of confiding youth, Who hear whate'er they wish as truth;
162
Which, doubting, half believing, try A vagrant's skill in palmistry.
—Is it by systematic rule, Which you all learn in Gipsy school;
Or, from the moment's happy chance, You seize the boon of ignorance?
These things I fain would hear you tell
In a plain way without a spell.
Be candid, then, and no small gains, Shall instantly reward your pains.”
There now came forward from the wood,
Where he had all attention stood,
With grizzle beard, an aged man Who might be Patriarch of the Clan.
His face with deepest brown was dyed,
A gaping woman grac'd his side,
And, in quick tones he thus replied.
Gipsy.—
“We cannot tell from whence we came,
And wherefore Gipsy is our name:
Whether from Egypt we have sped, As many learned men have said,
And thence have Europe overspread:
Or in the wars that did infest, In former days, th'embattl'd East,
We have been driven from our home, And fled in distant parts to roam,
Preserving still our native cast, That seems by fate ordain'd to last.
Thus we, indeed, appear the same As well in character as name;
Maintaining still our ancient nature,
In customs, manners, and in feature;
Speak the same tongue as did supply
Our words through many a century.
We all have gone the self-same road,
Which we believe our fathers trod:
The self-same customs we pursue, Move on the same, there's nothing new
In Gipsy life, a wand'ring race,
Who know no change, but change of place.
No written rule or law prescribes The actions of our roving tribes:
Nature's the mistress we obey, Her sportive tricks the game we play:
To all but to her dictates blind, We, ever to ourselves confin'd,
Ne'er mingle in the busy strife, The scenes of artificial life;—
To nought but our own int'rest prone We are, good Sir, ourselves alone.
And wherefore Gipsy is our name:
Whether from Egypt we have sped, As many learned men have said,
And thence have Europe overspread:
Or in the wars that did infest, In former days, th'embattl'd East,
We have been driven from our home, And fled in distant parts to roam,
Preserving still our native cast, That seems by fate ordain'd to last.
Thus we, indeed, appear the same As well in character as name;
Maintaining still our ancient nature,
In customs, manners, and in feature;
Speak the same tongue as did supply
Our words through many a century.
We all have gone the self-same road,
Which we believe our fathers trod:
The self-same customs we pursue, Move on the same, there's nothing new
In Gipsy life, a wand'ring race,
Who know no change, but change of place.
No written rule or law prescribes The actions of our roving tribes:
Nature's the mistress we obey, Her sportive tricks the game we play:
To all but to her dictates blind, We, ever to ourselves confin'd,
Ne'er mingle in the busy strife, The scenes of artificial life;—
To nought but our own int'rest prone We are, good Sir, ourselves alone.
“Whene'er it is our lot to range, We find a never-ceasing change;
Manners and fashions, customs, laws,
From some unknown and secret cause,
Which is not level to our reason,
Change with each year, nay with each season,
While we in character and name Continue through all times the same.
From formal rules and fashions free, Clad it is true in poverty,
We're one self-errant family.
Like vagrant flocks abroad we roam,
Ourselves our care, the world our home.
'Tis true we do not ask a priest To grace the matrimonial feast:
The children may scarce know their mother
Nor the young sister tell her brother;
But the fond mother's ne'er beguil'd;
She always knows her darling child:
Her babes will find their place of rest Upon her back or at her breast;
And when they grow up stout and tall
They are the children of us all;—
Nor does the workhouse ever hear A Gipsy child claim entrance there.
Where'er our lot, where'er our station, Strangers we are in ev'ry nation;
And though us Gipsies they condemn,
We never borrow aught from them.
We tread the same path o'er and o'er,
Which our forefathers trod before.”
Manners and fashions, customs, laws,
From some unknown and secret cause,
Which is not level to our reason,
Change with each year, nay with each season,
While we in character and name Continue through all times the same.
From formal rules and fashions free, Clad it is true in poverty,
We're one self-errant family.
Like vagrant flocks abroad we roam,
Ourselves our care, the world our home.
'Tis true we do not ask a priest To grace the matrimonial feast:
The children may scarce know their mother
Nor the young sister tell her brother;
But the fond mother's ne'er beguil'd;
She always knows her darling child:
Her babes will find their place of rest Upon her back or at her breast;
163
They are the children of us all;—
Nor does the workhouse ever hear A Gipsy child claim entrance there.
Where'er our lot, where'er our station, Strangers we are in ev'ry nation;
And though us Gipsies they condemn,
We never borrow aught from them.
We tread the same path o'er and o'er,
Which our forefathers trod before.”
Syntax.—
“Do now, I pray, the truth reveal
If you don't borrow, don't you steal?
And as your people stroll along, Do they distinguish right from wrong?
Do they reflect on wrong or right, If they can get a dinner by't?
Nay, if your parties at a lift Should chance to take a shirt or shift,
Or purloin, as a useful pledge, The linen whit'ning on a hedge,
To mend the rags that hung about 'em,
Pray do your ancient customs scout 'em?
And do your younger people feel The elders' anger when they steal?
Or do they not receive applause, When stealing they evade the laws?
Say do you not the trick commend,
When you with hurried tongue pretend,
And ready, well-fram'd lies, to state Your knowledge of the book of fate;
And, with fallacious promise cheat Weak minds, to pay for the deceit?”
Gipsy.—
“I own, Sir, in the Gipsy brood,
That there are bad as well as good:
But is not this a common case, In ev'ry state, in ev'ry place;
And if the Gipsy breaks the law, He can no more escape its paw
Than any other who offends Against its object and its ends.
Do we alone then make a tool Of those who chuse to play the fool?
No, this same trick is often seen, Where Gipsy-folk have never been:
Where fashion's votaries resort, Or midst the splendor of a Court,
Or in the conflicts of the bar Where Lawyers wage their wordy war.
It is not Jack, it is not Joan, It is not humble folks alone,
Who willing come to try our art, And what our knowledge can impart:
It is not the deploring maid Whom village Strephon has betray'd;
Nor those alone, so lowly born,
Whom wealth and greatness treat with scorn,
Who to the Gipsy's haunts apply, For peeps into futurity.
—The heir will come who wants to know,
When his rich Dad will pass below:
Or Miss, when her old aunt shall die,
Whether a husband she may buy With the expected legacy.
Aye many of the tonish crowd The gay, the gallant, and the proud,
Nay those who self-conceited strut,
Will sometimes seek the Gipsy's hut.
How often I've been call'd to fix Attention in a coach and six.
And where, for what my wit has told,
My hand has oft been cross'd with gold.
Yes lovely, fair and courtly dames, And I could mention certain names,
Have come to me devoid of state To hear my tidings of their fate.
Smile not for know my art can scan
That you're a grave and learned man,
164
Must own that what I say is true.
—If all, who play deceit for gain, Were forc'd to join the Gipsy train,
The world would share one common fate,
And thus its fortune I relate: The world would be one Gipsy state.
“But after all, how small our gain,
Expos'd to insult we remain, A wand'ring, persecuted train.
Still 'twould be vain for you to guess
Why clad in seeming wretchedness
We this strange mode of living chuse, And all your social good refuse:
But that's a branch of Gipsy art That nought will bribe us to impart.
That secret, all which you could pay Will never tempt us to betray.
Show me your hand and I will state Your fortune and your future fate:
But, wheresoe'er our lot is thrown, We never will unfold our own.”
The Doctor from his pocket drew
His purse, and random silver threw,
And as his waiting steeds he sought
He thus, in smiling silence, thought,
“He never may have been at school, But, faith, this fellow is no fool.”
| The three tours of Doctor Syntax | |