The Tour of Dr. Syntax in Search of the Picturesque by William Combe

1 01 - Canto 1 9:34

The school was done. The business o'er. When tired of Greek and Latin lore, good syntax sought his easy-chair, and sat in calm composure there. His wife was to a neighbor gone, to hear the chit-chat of the town, and left him the unfrequent power of brooding through a quiet hour. Thus, while he sat, a busy train of images besieged his brain. Of church preferment he had none, nay, all his hope of that was gone. He felt that he content must be with drudging inaccuracy. Indeed, on every Sabbath day, through eight long miles he took his way, to preach, to grumble, and to pray, to cheer the good, to warn the sinner, and if he got it, eat a dinner, to bury these, to christen those, and marry such fond folks as chose to change the tenor of their life and risk the matrimonial strife.

And thus were his weekly journeys made, neath summer suns and wintry shade, and all his gains, it did appear, were only thirty pounds a year. Besides the augmenting taxes press to aid expense and aid distress, Mutton and beef and bread and beer, and every thing was grown so dear. The boys, too, always prone to eat, delighted less in books than meat, so that when holy Christmas came his earnings ceased to be the same, and now, alas, could do no more than keep the wolf without the door. E'en Birch the pedant masters boast. Was so increas'd in worth and cost, That oft prudentially beguil'd, To save the rod, he spared the child. Thus if the times refuse to mend, He to his school must put an end. How hard his lot!

How blind his fate! What shall he do to mend his state? Thus did poor Syntax ruminate. When, as the vivid meteors fly, and instant light the gloomy sky, a sudden thought across him came, and told the way to wealth and fame. And as the expanding vision grew, wider and wider to his view, the painted fancy did beguile his woe-worn fizz into a smile. But while he paced the room around, or stood immersed in thought profound, the doctor, midst his rumination, was wakened by a visitation which troubles many a poor man's life—the visitation of his wife. Good Mrs. Syntax was a lady ten years perhaps beyond her heyday, but though the blooming charms had flown that graced her youth, It still was known the love of power she never lost, as Syntax found it to his cost.

But as her words were used to flow, he but replied, Or yes, or no. When e'er enraged by some disaster, she'd shake the boys and cuff the master. Nay, to avenge the slightest wrong she would employ both arms and tongue. And if we list to country tales, she sometimes would enforce her nails. Her face was red, her form was fat, a roundabout, and rather squat, and when in angry humour stalking, was like a dumpling set a-walking. It was not the custom of this spouse to suffer long a quiet house. She was among those busy wives. Who hurry-scurry through their lives, and make amends for fading beauty by telling husbands of their duty. "'Twas at this moment when, inspired, and by his new ambition fired, the pious man, his hands upreared, that Mrs.

Syntax reappeared. Amazed she looked, and loud she shrieked. Or, rather like a pig, she squeaked, to see her humble husband dare thus quit his sober evening chair, and pace with varying steps about now in the room and now without. At first she did not find her tongue, a thing which seldom happened long, and soon that organ grew unquiet to ask the cause of all this riot. The doctor smiled, and thus addressed the secrets of his laboring breast. Sit down, my love, my dearest dear. Nay, prithee do, and patient here. Let me for once throughout my life receive this kindness from my wife. It will oblige me so. In troth it will, my dear, oblige us both. For such a plan has come athwart me. Which some kind sprite from heaven has brought me.

That if you will your councils join To aid this golden scheme of mine, New days will come, new times appear, And teeming plenty crown the year. We then on dainty bits shall dine, And change our home-brew'd ale for wine. On summer days to take the air, We'll put our grizzle to a chair, While you, in silks and muslins fine, The grocer's wife shall far outshine, And neighbouring folks be forced to own In this fair town to give the ton. "'Oh, tell me,' cried the smiling dame, "'tell me this golden road to fame. You charm my heart, you quite delight it. I'll make a tour.'" And then I'll write it. You well know what my pen can do, and I'll employ my pencil too. I'll write and write and sketch and print, and thus create a real mint.

I'll prose it here, I'll verse it there, and picturesque it everywhere. I'll do what all have done before. I think I shall, and somewhat more. At Dr. Pompous give a look. He made his fortune by a book, and if my volume does not beat it, when I return I'll fry and eat it. Next week the boys will all go home, and I shall have a month to come. My clothes, my cash, may all prepare, while Ralph looks to the grizzle mare. Though wandering folks may laugh and scoff, By this day fortnight I'll be off. And when old time a month has run, Our business, lovey, will be done. I will in search of fortune roam, While you enjoy yourself at home. The story told, the doctor eased, Of his great plan, and Madame pleased.

No pains were spared by night or day to sept him forward on his way. She trimmed his coat, she mended all his various clothing great and small, and better still a purse was found with twenty notes of each a pound. Thus furnished and in full condition to prosper in his expedition, at length the lingering moment came That gave the dawn of wealth and fame. In curious ralph, exact at four, led Grizzle, saddled to the door, and soon with more than common state the doctor stood before the gate. Behind him was his faithful wife. One more embrace, my dearest life. Then his grey palfrey he bestrode, and gave a nod, and off he rode. "'Good luck, good luck!' she loudly cried. "'Vale, oh, vale!' he replied.

End of Canto One

2 02 - Canto 2 9:53

No woeful tear bedewed her eye, Nor did she heave a single sigh. But soon began her daily trade, to chide the man and scold the maid. While Syntax, with his scheme besotted, along the village gently trotted. The folks on daily labor bent, whistled and caroled as they went. But as the doctor passed along, bowed down their heads and ceased their song. He gravely nodded to the people, then, looking upwards to the steeple, He thus in muttering tones expressed the disappointments of his breast. That thankless parent, Mother Church, has ever left me in the lurch, and while so many fools are seen to strut a rector or a dean, who live in ease and find good cheer on every day of every year, so small her share of true discerning, she'd turn her back on all my learning.

I've in her vineyard laboured hard, and what has been my lean reward, I've dug the ground while some rich vicar pressed the ripe grape and drank the liquor. I feed the flock while others eat the mutton's nice delicious meat. I've kept the hive and made the honey while the drones pocketed the money. But now, on better things intent, On far more grateful labors bent, new prospects open to my view, so, thankless Mother Church, adieu. Thus having said his angry say, syntax proceeded on his way.

The morning lark ascends on high, and with its music greets the sky. The blackbird whistles, and the thrush warbles his wild notes in the bush. While every hedge and every tree resound with vocal minstrelsy. But syntax, wrapped in thought profound, is death to each enlivening sound, Revolving many a golden scheme, and yielding to the pleasing dream The reins hung loosely from his hand, while Grizzle, senseless of command, unguided paced the road along. Nor knew if it were right or wrong. Through the deep vale and up the hill, By rapid stream or tinkling rill, Grizzle her thoughtful master bore, Who, counting future treasure o'er, And on his weighty projects bent, Observed not whither Grizzle went.

Thus did kind fancy's soothing power Cheat him of many a fleeting hour. Nor did he know the pacing sun had half his daily circuit run. Sweet airy sprite that can bestow a pleasing respite to our woe, that can corroding care beguile, and make the woe-worn face to smile. But ah! too soon the vision passes, confounded by a pack of asses. The donkeys bray'd, and lo, the sound— Awake him from his thought profound, and as he stared and looked around, he said, or else he seemed to say, I find that I have lost my way. Oh, what a wide expanse I see, without a wood, without a tree! No one at hand, no house is near, to tell the way or give good cheer. For now a sign would be a treat, to tell us we might drink and eat.

But sure— There is not in my sight the sign of any living white. And all around upon this common I see not either man or woman, Nor dogs to bark, nor cocks to crow, Nor sheep to bleat, nor herds to low. Nay, if these asses did not bray, And thus some signs of life betray, I might well think that I were hurled Into some sad unpeopled world. How could I come, Miss— Guided wretch, to where I cannot make a sketch. Thus, as he pondered what to do, a guide-post rose within his view, and when the pleasing shape he spied he pricked his steed, and thither hide. But some unheeding, senseless wight, who to fair learning owed a spite, had every lettered mark defaced. Which once its several pointers graced.

The mangled post thus long had stood, an uninforming piece of wood, like other guides, as some folks say, who neither lead nor tell the way. The sun, as hot as he was bright, had got to his meridian height. "'Twas sultry noon, for not a breath of cooling zephyr fanned the heath." When Syntax cried, "'Tis all in vain To find my way across the plain. So here, my fortune, I will try, And wait till some one passes by. Upon that bank a while I'll sit And let poor Grizzle graze a bit. But as my time shall not be last I'll make a drawing of the post, And though a flimsy taste may flout it, There's something picturesque about it." "'Tis rude and rough without a gloss, and is well covered all with moss, and I've a right, who dares deny it, to place yon group of asses by it.

Ay, this will do, and now I'm thinking, that selfsame pond where Grizzle's drinking, if hither broad twould better seem, and faith, I'll turn it to a stream. I'll make this flat a shaggy ridge, and all the water— Throw a bridge. I'll do as other sketchers do, put anything into view, and any object recollect, to add a grace and give effect. Thus, though from truth I happily err, the scene preserves its character. What man of taste my right will doubt to put things in or leave them out? "'Tis more than right, it is a duty. If we consider landscape beauty." He ne'er will as an artist shine who copies nature line by line. Who'er from nature takes a view must copy and improve it too. To heighten every work of art, fancy should take an active part.

Thus I, which few I think can boast, have made a landscape of a post. So far so good, but no one passes. No living creature but these asses, and should I sit and hear them bray, I were as great a beast as they. So I'll be off. From yonder down I may perhaps descry a town, or some tall spire among the trees may give my wayworn spirit ease. Grizzle again he soon bestrode, and waved his whip, and off he rode. But all around was dingy green, no spire arose, no town was seen. At length he reached a beaten road. How great a joy the sight bestowed! And on he went in pleasant mood, and shortly gained a stately wood, Where the refreshing zephyrs played, and cooled the air beneath the shade. Oh, what a change!

How great the treat! To fanning breeze from sultry heat. But ah! how false is human joy, When least we think it, ills annoy. For now with fierce impetuous rush Three ruffians issued from a bush, One grizzle stopt and seized the reins, While they all threat the doctor's brains. Poor Syntax, trembling with affright, Resists not such superior might, but yields him to their savage pleasure, and gives his purse with all its treasure. Fearing howe'er the doctor's view might be to follow and pursue, the cunning robbers wisely counted that he, of course, should be dismounted, and still that it would safer be if he were fastened to a tree. Thus to a tree they quickly mound him, the cruel cords went round and round him, and having of all power bereft him, they tied him fast, and then they left him.

3 03 - Canto 3 12:01

His bosom heaved with many a sigh, And the tears stood out in either eye. What could he do, he durst not bawl? His noise the robbers might recall. The villains might again surround him, and hang him up where they had bound him. Sure never was a hapless wight in more uncomfortable plight. Nor was this all. His pate was bare, unsheltered by one lock of hair. For when the sturdy robbers took him, his hat and peruke both forsook him. The insect world were on the wing, whose talent is to buzz and sting, and soon his bare-worn head they sought, by instinct led, by nature taught, and dug their little forks within the tender texture of his skin. He raged and roared, but all in vain. No means he found to ease his pain.

The cords which to the tree had tied him, all help from either hand denied him. He shook his head, he writhed his face, with painful look, with sad grimace, and thus he spoke his hapless case. "'Ah, miserable man!' he cried. What perils do my course betide In this sad melancholy state Must I, alas, impatient wait, Till some kind soul shall haply find me, And with his friendly hands unbind me? Nay, I throughout the night must stay, Tis such an unfrequented way, Though what with hunger, thirst, and fright, I ne'er shall last throughout the night. And could I e'en these ills survive, the flies will eat me up alive. What mad ambition made me roam! Ah, wherefore did I quit my home? For there I lived remote from harm, my meals were good, my house was warm.

And though I was not free from strife, with other ills that trouble life, Yet I had learned full well to bear the nightly scold, the daily care, and after many a season past I should have found repose at last. Fate would have signed my long release, and Syntax would have died in peace, nor thus been robbed and tied and beaten, and all alive by insect-eaten. And while he thus at fate was railing, and fortune's angry frown bewailing, a dog's approaching bark he hears. "'Twas sweet as music to his ears, and soon a sure relief appears, for though it bears that general form which oft at home foretold a storm, it's now appeared an angel's shape that promised him a quick escape." Nor did La Mancha's valorous night feel greater pleasure at the sight, when, overwhelm'd with love and awe, his Dulcinea first he saw.

For on two trotting Pulfries came, and each one bore a comely dame. They started at his form to view, the horses also started too. The dog with insult seem'd to treat him. And looked as if he longed to eat him. In piteous tones he humbly prayed They'd turn aside and give him aid, When each leapt quickly from her steed To join in charitable deed. They drew their knives to cut the noose And let the mournful prisoner loose. With kindest words his fate bewail, While grateful syntax tells his tale. The rustic matrons soothe his grief, nor offer but afford relief, and turning from the beaten road, their well-lin'd panniers they unload, when soon upon the bank appear'd a sight his fainting spirits cheer'd.

They spread the fair with cheerful grace, and gave a banquet to the place. Most happily, too, as they untied him, he saw his hat And wig beside him, so thus be wigged, and thus be hatted, Down on the grass the doctor squatted. When he uplifted either eye, with grateful accents to the sky, Tis thus, he humbly said, we read, in sacred books of heavenly deed, And thus I find in my distress the manna of the wilderness. "'Tis hermits fair, but thanks to heaven, and those kind souls by whom tis given, "'Tis true that bread and curds and fruit do with the pious hermit's suit." But Syntax surely was mistaken to think their meals partake of bacon, or that those reverend men regale, as our good doctors do, with ale.

And those kind dames in nothing loath took care that he partook of both. At length twas time to bid adieu, and each their different way pursue. A kind farewell, a kiss as kind he gave them both with heart and mind. Then off he trudged, and as he walk'd thus to himself the parson talk'd. "'Tis well, I think. It is no worse. For I have only lost my purse. With all their cruelty and pains, those rogues have got but trifling gains. Poor four-and-fourpence is the measure of all their mighty pilfered treasure. For happily there was no divining, I had a snug pocket in my lining, and, thanks to Spousey, every note was well sewed up within my coat. But where is Grizzle? Never mind her. I'll have her cried, and soon shall find her.

Thus he pursued the winding way, big with the evils of the day, though the good doctor kept in view the favour of his blessings too. Nor had he paced it half an hour before he saw a parish tower, and soon with sore fatigue oppress'd an inn received him as its guest. But still his mind, with anxious care, pondered upon his wandering mare. He therefore sent the bellman round to see if Grizzle might be found. Grizzle, ungrateful to her master and careless of his foul disaster, left him tied up and took her way in hopes to meet with corn or hay. But as that did not come to pass, she sought a meadow full of grass. The farmer on the meadow found her, and ordered John his man to pound her. Now John was one of those droll folk who oft take mischief for a joke, and thought twould make the master stare when he again beheld his mare, perhaps the gemmon might be shock'd, to find her ready cropp'd and dock'd.

At all event he play'd his fun, no sooner was it said than done. But Grizzle was a patient beast, and minded nought if she could feast, like many an other prone to think the best of life was meat and drink, who feel to-day nor care nor sorrow if they are sure to feast to-morrow. Thus Grizzle, as she paced around the purlieu of the barren pound, in hungry mood might seem to neigh, if I had water, corn, and hay, I should not thus my fate bewail, nor mourn the loss of ears or tail. In the meantime, securely housed, the doctor boozed it and caroused. The hostess spread her fairest cheer, her best beefsteak, her strongest beer, and soothed him with her winning chat of, Pray this, and now take that, your reverence, after all your fright.

Want meat and drink to set you right. His reference praised the golden rule, nor did he let his victuals cool, and having drunk his liquor out, he took a turn to look about. When to the folks about the door he told the dismal story o'er, the country people on him gazed, and heard his perils all amazed. How the thieves twined the cords around him. How to a tree the villains bound him! What angels came to his release, To loose his bonds and soothe his grief? His loss of cash, and what was worse, His saddle, saddle-bags, and horse? Thus, as their rude attention hung Upon the wonders of his tongue, lo! Grizzle's altered form appears With half its tail and half its ears. Is there no law? the doctor cries.

Plenty, a lawyer straight replies. Employ me, and the thieves shall swing on Gallo's tree in hemp and string, and for the rogue the law shall flee him who maimed your horse, as now you see him. No, quoth the Don. Your pardon, pray. I've had enough of thieves to-day. I've lost four shillings and a groat. But you would strip me of my coat. And ears and tail won't fatten you. You'll want the head and carcass too. He chuckled as he made the stroke, and all around enjoyed the joke. But still it was a sorry sight to see the beast in such a plight. Yet what could angry Syntax do? T'was all in vain to fret and stew. His well-stuffed bags, with all their hoard of sketching tools. was safe restored. The saddle too which he had sought for small reward was quickly brought.

He therefore thought it far more sage to stop his threats and check his rage. So to the ostler's faithful care he gave his mutilated mare, and while poor Grizzle, free from danger, cropped the full rack and cleaned the manger, Syntax, to ease his aching head, Smok'd out his pipe, and went to bed.

4 04 - Canto 4 8:37

Blessed be the man who first taught sleep. Throughout our wearied frames to creep, and kindly gave to human woes the oblivious mantle of repose. Hail, balmy power, Thou canst repair the constant waste of human care, To the sad heart afford relief, and give a respite to its grief. Canst calm through night's composing hours the threatening storm, That daily lowers. On the rude flint the wretched cheer, And to a smile transform'd the tear. Thus wrapt in slumber syntax lay, Forgot the troubles of the day, So sound his sleep, so sweet his rest, By no disturbing dreams distress'd, That all in all he lay entranc'd. Till the fair morn was far advanced. At length the hostess thought it wrong that he should be left to sleep so long, so bid the maid to let him know that breakfast was prepared below.

Betty then op'd the chamber-door, and, tripping onwards, cross'd the floor, undrew the curtains one by one, when in a most ear-piercing tone, such as would grace the London cries, She told him it was time to rise. The noise his peaceful slumbers broke. He gave a snort or two, and woke. Now, as the doctor turn'd his head, Betty was curtsying by the bed. "'What brought you here, fair maid, I pray? To tell you, sir, how where's the day? And that it is my special care to get your worship's morning fare. The cattle boils, and I can boast no small renown for making toast. There's coffee, sir, and tea and meat, and surely you must want to eat. For ten long hours have passed away since down upon this bed you lay."

The doctor rubbed his opening eyes, then stretched his arms and gan to rise. But Betty still demurely stands to hear him utter his commands. Begone, he cried, to get something nice, and I'll be with you in a trice. Behold him then, renew'd by rest, his chin well shav'd, his peruke dress'd, conning with solemn air the news, his welcome breakfast to amuse. And when the well-fed meal was o'er— Grizzle was ordered to the door. Betty was also told to stay, the mighty sum there was to pay. Betty obedient to his will, her curtsy makes, and brings the bill. Down the long page he cast his eye, then shook his head and heaved a sigh. What, am I doomed where'er I go, in all I meet to find a foe? Where'er I wander to be cheated, to be bamboozled and ill-treated?

Thus, as he read each item o'er, the hostess op'd the parlour door, when Syntax rose in solemn state, and thus began the fierce debate. Syntax Good woman, here your bill retake, and prithee some abatement make. I could not such demands afford were I a bishop or a lord, and though I hold myself as good as any of my brotherhood, howe'er by bounteous fortune crowned in wealth and honours they abound, it is not in my power to pay such long-drawn bills as well as they. The paper fills me with a fright. I surely do not read it right, for at the bottom here I see. The normus total! One pound three!

The charges all are fairly made. If you will eat, I must be paid. My bills have never found reproaches from lords and ladies in their coaches. This house that's called the royal crown is the first inn throughout the town. The best of gentry every day become my guests and freely pay. Besides, I took you in at night, half dead with hunger and a fright, just scaped from robbers. Syntax. That's most true, and now I am to be robbed by you. Hostess. Sir, you mistake, and did not I disdain rude words? I'd say you lie. I took you in last night, I say. Syntax. "'Tis true, and if this bill I pay, you'll take me in again to-day." Hostess. I gave you all my choicest cheer, the best of meat, the best of beer, and then you snored yourself to rest in the best bed, I say, the best.

You've had such tea as few can boast, and a whole loaf turned into toast.

And for your beef and beer and tea you kindly charge me one pound three.

Tis cheap as dirt, for well I know how things with country curates go, and I profess that I am loth to deal unkindly with the cloth. Nay, oft and oft, as I am a sinner, I've given hungry clerks a dinner.

And there's a proverb, as they say, That for the clerks the parsons pay, Which you, I trow, can well fulfill Whene'er you make a parsons bill. Why, one pound three! The truth, I speak, Would keep my household for a week. Dear Mrs. Syntax, how she'd vape up! Were she to read this curious paper.

If that's your living on my life, you starve your servants and your wife. I wish my wife were here to meet you. In your own fashion she would greet you, with looks as fierce and voice as shrill, she'd make you, mistress, change your bill. Hostess. Think you, besides, there's naught to pay for all your horse's corn and hay, and ointments too. To cure the ale of her cropped ears and mangled tail.

I wish the wight would bring the shears which docked that tail and cropped those ears, and just exert the selfsame skill to crop and dock your monstrous bill. But I'm in haste to get away, though one pound three I will not pay. So if you'll take one-half the mount— We'll quickly settle the account. There is your money, do you see? And let us part in charity. Hostess. Well, as a charitable deed I'd e'en consent, So mount your steed, And on your journey straight proceed. But well you know, where'er you roam, That charity begins at home.

5 05 - Canto 5 11:06

The bill was paid. The hostess left him to the maid. When Betty stood in humble guise, with expectation in her eyes, that he was surely so good-hearted to give her something ere they parted. Now nature in her wanton freaks had given Betty rosy cheeks, and caused her raven locks to breck in native ringlets on her neck. The roving bee might wish to sip The sweetness of her pouting lip, So red, so tempting to the view, T'was what the doctor longed to do. "'You're a nice girl,' he smiling said. "'Am I?' replied the simpering maid. "'I swear you are, and if you're willing To give a kiss, I'll give a shilling.' "'If tis the same thing, sir, to you—' Make the gift twofold and take two. He grimly grinned with inward pleasure, and instant seized the purchased treasure.

Your lips, my dear, are sweet as honey, so one smack more and there's your money.

This charming ceremony o'er the parson strutted to the door. Where his poor wounded mare appears in cruel state of tail and ears. The neighbors all impatient wait to see him issue from the gate, for country-town or village green had seldom such a figure seen. Labor stood still to see him pass, while every lad and every lass ran forward to enjoy the feast. To jeer the sage and mourn the beast. But one and all aloud declare, "'Twas a fit sight for a country fair, Far better than a dancing bear."

At length escaped from all the noise Of women, men, and girls, and boys, In the recesses of a lane He thus gave utterance to his pain, "'It seems to be my luckless case.' At every point in every place to meet with trouble and disgrace. But yesterday I left my home in search of fanci'd wealth to roam, but nought I think about ills betide me. Sure, some foul spirit runs beside me, some blasting demon from the East, a deadly foe to man and beast that loves to riot in disaster. And plague alike both horse and master. Grizzle, who full five years and more, a trumpeter in triumph bore, who had in hard-fought battle been, and many a bloody conflict seen, who having scaped with scarce a scar, mid all the angry threats of war, when her best days are almost past, feels these ignoble wounds at last.

Ah, what can thy fond master do? He's cut and slashed as well as you. But though no more with housing gay and prancing step you take your way, or with your stately rider lead the armid troop to warlike deed, while you've a leg you ne'er shall cease to bear the minister of peace. Long have you borne him, nor e'er grumbled. Nor ever started, kicked, or stumbled. But mildest natures sometimes err from the strict rules of character. The timorous bird defends its young, and beasts will kick when they are stung. "'Twas burning hot, and hosts of flies with venom'd stings around them rise. They seized on Grizzle's wounded part, Who straight began to snort and start, kicked up behind, reared up before, and played a dozen antics more.

The doctor coaxed, but all in vain. She snorted, kicked, and reared again. "'Alas,' said Syntax, "'would I pop just now upon a blacksmith's shop, whose cooling unguent would avail to save poor Grizzle's ears and tail?' When scarce he had his wishes spoke, then he beheld a cloud of smoke that from a forge appeared to rise, and for a moment veil'd the skies, while the rude hammers to his ears proclaim'd the aid he wish'd was near. By the wayside the cottage rose, around it many a willow grows, where syntax in a tone of grief show'd Grizzle's wounds. And prayed relief. The sooty Galen soon appeared, With fair hopes the doctor cheered. "'Trust me, good sir, I've got a plaster, Will cure the beast of her disaster.

And while the dressing I prepare, With all becoming skill and care, You in that arbor may regale With a cool pipe and jug of ale.' I've long a twofold trade professed, and medicines sell for man and beast. Syntax now sought the cooling shade, while Galen's dame the banquet made. She well knew how her guests are pleased, and added meat and bread and cheese. Besides, she told the village tale, who came to drink her homebrew'd ale. How that the laughter-loving vicar Would sometimes walk to taste their liquor. That their gay landlord was renown'd for hunting fox with horn and hound. That he'd a daughter passing fair, who was his honor's only heir. But she was proud. Nor could a squire approach to tell his amorous fire.

A lord alone, as it was said, she would receive into her bed. Throughout the village every name became a subject for the dame, and thus she played her chattering part, till Syntax thought it time to start. And now poor Grizzle reappears with plastered tail and plastered ears, which thus cased up might well defy the sharpest sting of gnat or fly. The doctor, having had his fill, Without a word discharged his bill, but as it was the close of day he trotted briskly on his way, and ere the sun withdrew his light, an inn received him for the night. His frame fatigued, his mind oppressed, he tiffed his punch and went to rest. The morning came when he arose in spirits from his calm repose. And while the maid prepared the tea he looked around the room to see what story did the walls disclose of human joys, of human woes.

The window quickly caught his eye on whose clear panes he could descry the motley works of many a muse. There was enough to pick and choose, and faith, says he, I'll strive to hook. Some of these lines into my book, for here there are both grave and witty, and some I see are rather pretty. From a small pocket in his coat he drew his tablets, when he wrote whate'er the pregnant pains possess'd, and these choice lays among the rest.

If my fond breast were made of glass, and you could see What there doth pass? Kitty, my ever-charming fair, You'd see your own sweet image there. I once came here a-freebooting, And on this fine man went shooting, And if the squire this truth denies, This glass shall tell the squire he lies.

Dolly's as fat as any sow, And, if I'm not mistaken, Dolly's well-disposed I trow, To trim her husband's bacon.

Dear Jenny, while your name I hear, No transient glow my bosom heats, And when I meet your eye, my dear, My fluttering heart no longer beats. I dream, but I no longer find Your form still present to my view. I wake, and now my vacant mind No longer waking dreams of you. I can find maids in every route, with smiles as force and forms as fine, but you must hunt the world throughout to find a heart as true as mine. I hither came down from fair London town with Lucy so mild so kind, but Lucy grew cool and called me a fool, so I started and left her behind.

But as he copied, quite delighted, all that the muse had thus indicted, a hungry dog, and prone to steal, ran off with half his breakfast meal, while Dolly, entering with a kettle, was followed by a man of metal who swore he'd have the promised kiss, and so he seized the melting bliss. From the hot, ill-poised kettle's spout the boiling steam came pouring out. Which drove the doctor from the muse by quickly filling both his shoes.

6 06 - Canto 6 14:38

No sooner is he cheered by joy Then sorrows come and pains annoy, And scarce his lips are oped to bless The transient gleam of happiness Than some dark cloud obscures the sky, And grief's sad moisture fills his eye. Thus, while the doctor smiling stole From the clear glass each witty scroll, He felt, to interrupt the treat, the scalding torment in his feet, and thus, awakened from his trance, began to skip and jump and dance. "'Take off my shoes!' he raving cried, and let my gaiters be untied." When Dolly, with a nimble hand, instant obeyed the loud command, and as he lolled upon the chair, his feet and ankles soon were bare. Away the impatient damsel run, to cure the mischief she had done, and quick return'd with liquid store to rub his feet and ankles o'er.

Nor was the tender office vain, it soon assuag'd the burning pain. A tear was seen on Dolly's cheek, who sigh'd as if her heart would break. Be not, my girl, with care oppress'd. I'm now, says Syntax, quite at rest. My anger's vanished with the pain. No more, my dear, shall I complain, Since to get rid of my disaster, so fair a maid Presents the plaster. Thus did he Dolly's care beguile, And turned her tears into a smile. And while she called the raging part, She somehow warmed the doctor's heart, and as she rubbed the ointment in he pinched her cheeks and chucked her chin. And when she had redressed his shanks he with a kiss bestowed his thanks, while gentle Dolly, nothing loath, consenting, smiled, and took them both.

I think— Says she, you'd better stay nor travel further on to-day. And though she said it with a smile, his steady purpose to beguile, the doctor closed the kind debate by ordering Grizzle to the gate. Now undisturbed he took his way and traveled till the close of day, when, to delight his wearied eyes, before him Oxford's towers arise. O Alma Mater, Syntax cried, My present boast, my early pride, To whose protecting care I own All I forgot and all I know. Deign from your nursling to receive The homage that his heart can give. Hail, sacred, ever-honored shades, Where oft I wooed the mortal maids. Where, strolling aft at break of day, My feet have brushed the dews away, By Isis and by Churwell's stream, How oft I wove the classic dream, Or sought the cloisters dim To meet pale science in her lone retreat.

The sight of you again inspires my bosom With its former fires. I feel again the genial glow that makes me half forget the woe, and all my aching heart could tell since last I bid these scenes farewell. Thus Syntax mov'd in sober pace beset with academic grace, while Grizzle bore him up the town and at the mitre set him down. The night was passed in sound repose, and as the clock struck nine he rose, the barber now applies his art to shave him clean and make him smart. From him he learned that Dickie Bend, his early academic friend, as a reward for all his knowledge, was made the provost of his college. And fame declared that he had clear At least twelve hundred pounds a year. O-ho, says Syntax, if that's true, I cannot surely better do than further progress to delay, and with friend Dickie pass a day.

Away he hide, and soon he found him, with all his many comforts round him. The provost hailed the happy meeting, and after kind and mutual greeting, to make inquiries he began, and thus the conversation ran.

Good Dr. Syntax, I rejoice once more to hear your well-known voice. To dine with us I hope you'll stay and share a college feast to-day. For many a year is gone and past. Since we beheld each other last. Fortune has kindly dealt with me, as you my friend may plainly see, and pray, how has she dealt with thee?

Alas, alas, I've played the fool, I took a wife and kept a school, and while on dainties you are fed, I scarce get butter to my bread. Provost For my part I've never married, and grieved to hear your plans miscarried. I hope then, my old worthy friend, your visit here your fate will mend. My services you may command I offer them with heart and hand, and while you think it right to stay, you'll make this house your home, I pray. I'm going further on a scheme, which you may think an idle dream, at the famed Lakes to take a look, and of my journey make a book.

I know full well that you have store of modern as of classic law, and surely with your weight of learning— And all your critical discerning, you might produce a work of name, to fill your purse and give you fame. How oft have we together sought whate'er the ancient sages taught. Syntax. I now perceive that all your knowledge is pent, my friend, within your college. Learnings become a very bore. That fashion long since has been o'er. A bookseller may keep his carriage and ask ten thousand pounds in marriage, may have his mansion in a square, and build a house for country air. And yet tis odds the fellow knows if Horace wrote in verse or prose. Could Dr. G in chariot ride and take each day his wine beside?

If he could not contrive to cook each year his tour into a book, a flippant, flashy, flowery style, a lazy morning to beguile, with every other leaf a print of some fine view in aqua tint. Such is the book I mean to make, and I've no doubt the work will take, for though your wisdom may decry it. The simple folk will surely buy it. I will allow it is but trash, but then it furnishes the cash.

Why, things are not the same, I fear, as when we both were scholars here. And since I doubt not your success and wish you every happiness, myself and my whole college tribe, depend upon it, will subscribe. At length the bell began to call to dinner in the college hall. Nor did the guests delay to meet, lured by the bounty of the treat. The formal salutations over each drew his chair and seized his cover. The provost, in collegiate pride, placed Dr. Syntax by his side, and soon they heard the hurrying feet of those that bore the smoking meat. Behold, the dishes do appear, Fish in the van, beef in the rear. But he who the procession led, By some false step or awkward tread, Or cursed by some malignant power, Fell headlong on the marble floor.

Ah, heedless white! Ah, hapless dish! Ah, all the luxury of fish! Thus in a moment, spoil'd and wasted, ah, never, never to be tasted. But one full step begets another, so they all tumbled one or t'other, and now the pavement was beshrew'd with roast and boil'd and fry'd and stew'd. The waiters squall'd, their backs bespatted with scalding sauce. The dishes clattered in various discord while the brawl re-echoed through the astonished hall. "'Well,' said Adon, "'as I'm a sinner, we must go elsewhere for a dinner.' "'Tis no such thing,' the head replied. "'You all shall soon be satisfied. We are but ten, and sure there's plenty. I ordered full enough for twenty. I see, my friends, the haunch unspoiled.' With chickens roast and turkeys boiled.

The venison pasty is secure, the marrow-pudding safe and sure, With ham and many good things more, And tarts and custards full a-score. Sure, here's enough to cut and carve, Today I think we shall not starve. But still, I'll make the boobies pay For the good things they've thrown away. Thus every eye was quickly cheer'd with all the plenty that appear'd. They ate and drank, they smoked, they talk'd, and round the college garden walk'd. But the time came, for time will fly, when syntax was to say good-bye. His tongue could scarce his feeling tell, could scarce pronounce the word farewell. The provost, too, whose generous heart In those same feelings bore a part, Told him when he should want a friend To write or come to Dickie Bend.

Next morning, at an early hour, Syntax proceeded on his tour, And as he sauntered on his way, The scene of many a youthful day He thought twould give his book an air, If Oxford were well painted there. And as he curious looked around he saw a spot of rising ground, from whence the turrets of the city would make a picture very pretty, where Ratcliffe's dome would intervene and Magdalen's tower crown the scene. So Grizzle to a hedge he tied, and onward then impatient Hyde. But as he sought to choose a part where he might best display his art, a wicked bull no sooner viewed him than loud he roared and straight pursued him. The doctor, finding danger near, flew swiftly on the wings of fear and nimbly clambered up a tree that gave him full security.

But as he ran to save his bacon, By hat and wig he was forsaken. His sketchbook, too, he left behind, a prey to the unhappy wind. While Grizzle, startled by the rout, broke from the hedge and pranced about. Syntax, still trembling with affright, clung to the tree with all his might. He called for help, and help was near, for dogs and men and boys appear. So that his foe was forced to yield and leave him master of the field. No more of roaring bulls afraid, he left the tree's protecting shade, and as he paced the meadow round, his hat, his wig, his book he found. "'Come, my old girl,' the doctor said. The faithful steed the call obeyed. So Grizzle once more he bestrode, Nor looked behind, but off he rode.

End of Canto VI

7 07 - Canto 7 17:54

Syntax his pensive way pursued. And now his thoughts began to roam to the good woman left at home, how she employed the passing day when her fond mate was far away. For they possessed with all their pother a sneaking kindness for each other. Proud of her husband's stock of learning, his classic skill and deep discerning, no tongue she suffered to dethrone his fond importance. But her own. Besides, she was a very bee in bustle and in industry, and though a pointed sting she bore that sometimes made the doctor sore, she helped to make the household thrive, and brought home honey to the hive. He too had not forgot her charms when first he took her to his arms, for If report relates the truth, she was a beauty in her youth.

The charming Dolly was well known to be the toast of all the town, and though for many a year was gone since this good dame was twenty-one, she still retained the air and mien of the nice girl she once had been. For these and other charms beside, she was indeed the doctor's Nay, he would sometimes on her gaze with the fond looks of former days. And whatsoe'er she did or said, he kept his silence and obeyed. Besides, his mind he thus consoled, "'Tis classical to be a scold." For, as the ancient tomes record, Santhiope's tongue was like a sword. She was about my dolly's age, and the known helpmate of a sage. Thus Socrates in days of yore the selfsame persecution bore, nor shall I blush to share the fate of one so good, of one so great.

"'Twas now five days since they had parted, and he was ever tender-hearted." Whene'er he heard the wretched sigh he felt a Christian sympathy. For though he played the demigod among his boys with rule and rod, what, though he spoke in pompous phrase and kept the vulgar inner maze, though self-important he would stride along the street with priestly pride, though his strange figure would provoke the passing smile, the passing joke, Among the high or with the low syntax had never made a foe. And though the jest of all he knew, yet while they laughed they loved him too.

No wonder then, so far from home, his head would shake, the sigh would come. Thus he went gently on his way till the sun marked the declining day. But thought as well as grief is dry, and though a friendly cot was nigh, whose sign, high dangling in the air, invites the traveller to repair, where he in comfort may regale with cooling pipe and foaming ale.

The doctor gave the loud command, and sees his host beside him stand, then quits his steed with the usual state, And passes through the wicket-gate. The hostess opes the willing door, and then recounts the humble store which her poor cottage could afford to place upon the frugal board. The homespun napkin soon was laid, the table all its ware display'd, the well-broil'd rasher then appear'd, and with fresh eggs his stomach cheer'd. The crusty pie with apples lined sweetened the feast on which he dined, and liquor that was brewed at home among the rest was seen to foam.

The doctor drank, the doctor ate, well pleased to find so fair a treat. Then to his pipe he kindly took, and with a condescending look called on the hostess to relate, What was the village name and state, and to whose office it was given to teach them all the way to heaven? Hostess. The land belongs to Squire Bounty. No better man lives in the county. I wish the rector were the same. One Dr. Squeezum is his name, but we ne'er see him more's the shame, and while in wealth he cuts and carves, The worthy curate prays and starves.

I truly wish that he were here To take a pipe and share my beer. I know what tis as well as he To serve a man I never see. Just as he spoke the curate came. This, this is he, proclaimed the dame. Syntax his brother parson greeted. and begged him to be quickly seated. Come, take a pipe, and takes the liquor. "'Tis good enough for any vicar."

Alas, sir, I'm no vicar, I, bound to a humble curacy, with all my care can scarcely contrive to keep my family alive, while the fat rector can afford to eat and drink like any lord. But no, sir, I am a man of letters, and ne'er speak evil of my betters. That's good, but when we suffer pain, tis nature's office to complain. And when the strong oppress the weak, justice, though blind, will always speak. Tell me, have you explained your case with due humility and grace? The great and wealthy must be flattered. They love with praise to be despatter'd. Indeed, I cannot see the harm, if thus you can their favour charm. If by fine phrases you can bend the pride of power to be your friend.

I wrote, I'm sure, in humblest style, and praised his goodness all the while. I begged, as things have grown so dear, he'd raise my pay ten pounds a year. And as I now had children five, the finest little bairns alive, while their poor fond and faithful mother would soon present me with another, and as the living brought him clear at least a thousand pounds a year, he'd grant the favour I implore, nor let me starve upon threescore.

Now I should like without delay to hear what this rich man could say. For I can well perceive, my friend, that you did not obtain your end. CURATE. The postman soon a letter brought, which cost me sixpence and a groat. Nor can your friendly heart suggest the rudeness which the praise expressed. Which suits as yours may well miscarry, for beggars should not dare to marry. At least, for I will not deceive you. I never, never will relieve you, and if you trouble me, be sure you shall be ousted from the cure. But I shall now, good sir, refrain, because I know twould give you pain from telling all that in his spite the arch-old scoundrel chose to write. For, no, sir, I am a man of letters, and never will abuse my betters.

Zounds tis enough to make one swear, nor can I such a monster bear. But think, my friend, on that great day of strict account, when he must pay for all his cruelty and lies, then he shall sink, and you will rise. Curate. The terms I own are not quite civil, but he's the offspring of the devil. And when the day of life is past he'll be with his father dwell at last. But no, sir, I'm a man of letters, and ne'er wish evil to my betters.

T'was thus they talked and drank their ale, till the dim shades of Eve prevail, when syntax settled each demand, and while he held the curate's hand bid him be stout and not despair. The poor are God's peculiar care. You're not the only one, my friend, who has with evil to contend. Resign yourself to what is given, be good, and leave the rest to heaven. Syntax, we've said, was tender-hearted. He dropp'd a tear, and then departed.

The evening lowered, a drizzly rain had spread a mist o'er the plain. Besides, the homebrewed beer began to prey upon the inward man, and Syntax, muddled, did not know, or where he was, or where to go. An active horseman by him trotted, and Syntax was not so besotted, but he could hiccup out, My friend, do tell me if this way will trend, to bring me to some place of rest. Yes. "'Twas replied, The very best of all our inns within a mile Will soon your weariness beguile." Who should this be but Squire Bounty, So much beloved throughout the county? And he resolved, by way of jest, To have the parson for his guest. So on he galloped to prepare His people for the friendly snare. The doctor came in tipsy state.

The squire received him at the gate, and to a parlour led him straight, then placed him in an easy-chair, and asked to know his pleasure there. SYNTAX Landlord, I'm sadly splash'd with mire, and chill'd with rain, so light a fire, and tell the ostler to take care of that good beast, my grizzle mare. And what your larder can afford, pray place it quickly on the board. Squire. Weave butcher's meat of every kind, and if that is not to your mind, there's poultry, sir, and if you please, our cook excels in fricassees. Syntax. Tell me, my honest fellow, I pray, what kind of fowl or fish are they? Besides, my very civil host, I wish to know what they will cost. For a poor parson can't afford to live on dainties like a lord.

SQUIRE. The clergy, sir, when here they stay, are never, never ask'd to pay. I love the church, and for its sake I ne'er make bills or reckonings take. Proud of its ministers receive The little that I have to give.

Why, then, my friend, you're never dull. Your inn, I trow, is always full. "'Tis a good rule must be confessed, but though I blink I see a jest."

No, sir, you see the cloth is laid, and not a farthing to be paid.

I find my head's not very clear, my eyes see double too, I fear, for all these things can never be prepared for such a guest as me. A banquet it must be allowed, of which Olympus might be proud.

Thus Syntax ate and drank his fill, regardless of the morrow's bill. He rang the bell and called the waiters. To rid him of his shoes and gaiters. Go tell the maid to show the bed, Where I may lay my aching head. Here, take my wig and bring a cap. My eyelids languish for a nap. No curtsies, pray, I want no fawning, For I shall break my jaws with yawning. Now Kitty, to adorn his crown, Brought him a nightcap of her own, and having put it on she bound it with a pink ribbon round and round it. In this fine guise was Syntax led up the best stairs and put to bed. Though mirth prevailed the house throughout, though it was all one revel rout, he heard it not, nor did he know the merriment he caused below.

For with fatigue and wine oppressed, he grunted, groaned, and went to rest. But when the son in These's lap had taken out his usual nap, Syntax awoke, and looking round, the sight his senses quite confound. He saw that he had lain his head within a fine-wrought silken bed. A gaudy carpet graced the floor. And gilded mouldings decked the door, nor did the mirror fail to show his own sweet form from head to toe. If I, said he, remember right, I was most lordly drunk last night, and as the tinker in the play was taken when drunk dead he lay, and made a lord for half a day, I think that some one has made free To play the selfsame trick with me. But I'll contrive to be possess'd of this same secret when I'm dress'd.

To find it out I'll ring the bell. The chambermaid the truth may tell. She soon appear'd, and, curtseying low, requested his commands to know. When and how did I come here? You'll be so good to say, my dear. You came last night. Not very late about the time the clock struck eight, and I have heard the servants say they thought that you had lost your way. Inform me also, how d'you call this noble inn? "'Tis Welcome Hall. And pray, who have you in the house? We've Squire Bounty and his spouse, with Lady and Sir William Hearty, and you, good sir, may join the party." Indeed, I'm ordered to request that you will be their morning guest. To question more he did not stay, but bid the damsel show the way.

Oh, t'was a very pleasant meeting. The landlord gave a hearty greeting, and placed the doctor in a chair between two ladies young and fair. Syntax, well pleased, began to prate. And all his history to relate, while mirth and laughter loud prevail as he let forth the curious tale. At length the squire explain'd the joke, and thus the doctor quaintly spoke. "'I beg, sir, no excuse you'll make, your merriment I kindly take, and only wish the gods would give, such jesting every day I live.' The ladies press'd his longer stay, but Syntax said he must away. So Grizzle soon her master bore some new adventure to explore.

8 08 - Canto 8 17:58

the errors to himself belong. Nor do we always judge aright of fortune's favors or her spite. How oft with pleasure we pursue some glittering phantom in our view. Not rightly seen or understood, we chase it as a real good. At length the airborne vision flies, and each fond expectation dies. Sometimes the clouds appear too lower, and threat misfortune's direful hour. We tremble at the approaching blast, each hope is fled, we look aghast. When, lo, the darkness disappears, the glowing sun all nature cheers. The drooping heart again acquires its former joys, its former fires. Last night I wander'd o'er the plain, Th'ru unknown ways and beating rain, Nor thought t'would be my lot to fall On such an inn as Welcome Hall.

Indeed, with truth I cannot say, When there I came I lost my way, For all was good, and nought to pay. Thus syntax, with reflection fraught, Soliloquized the moral thought, while Grizzle, all alive and gay, ambled along the ready way. Last night she found it no disaster to share the fortune of her master. She mong the finest hunters stood, and shared with them the choicest food. In a fine roomy stable plac'd, with every well-trimm'd clothing grac'd, Poor Grizzle was as fair a joke to all the merry stable folk as the good doctor self had been to the kind gentry of the inn.

Enwrapt in contemplation's power, Syntax forgot the fleeting hour, till, looking round, he saw the sun had passed his bright meridian run. A shepherd boy he now espied. Strolling along the highway-side, and on his wandering flock intent the stripling whistled as he went. "'My honest lad, perhaps you know what distance I shall have to go before my eager eyes shall greet some place where I may drink and eat. Continue, master, o'er the down, and soon you'll reach the neighbouring town.'" "'In less I think than half an hour you'll pass by yonder lofty tower. Keep onward by the churchyard wall, when you will see a house of call. The sign's a dragon. There you'll find eating and drinking to your mind.' Across the down the doctor went, and towards the church his way he bent.

"'Thus,' Syntax said, When man is hurled upwards and downwards in the world, when some strong impulse makes him stray, and he perhaps has lost his way, the church, religion's holy seat, will guide to peace his wandering feet. But hark! the death-bell's solemn toll tells the departure of a soul. The sexton, too, I see, prepares the place where end all human cares. And lo, a crowd of tombs appear, I may find something curious here, For oft poetic flowers are found To flourish in sepulchral ground. I'll just walk in to take a look And pick up matter for my book. The living, some wise man has said, Delight in reading of the dead. What golden gains my book would boast if I could meet a chatty ghost, who would some news communicate of its unknown and present state?

Some pallid figure in a shroud, or sitting on a murky cloud, or kicking up a new-made grave, and screaming forth some horrid stave. Or bursting from the hollow tomb to tell of bloody deeds to come, or adverse skeletons embattling with ghastly grins and bones a-rattling. Something to make the missus stare and force upright their curly hair, to cause their pretty forms to shake, to make them doubt if they're awake. And thus two tonnish folks present the picturesque of sentiment. But tis, I fear, some hours too soon. Ghosts slumber all the afternoon. I'll ask the sexton if at night I may perchance pick up a sprite. The doctor in canonic state now oped at once the churchyard gate, while Grizzle too thought fit to pass, who knew the taste of churchyard grass.

"'Sir,' cried the sexton, "'let me say—' that you must take your mare away, or else, believe me, I am bound to lead her quickly to the pound. You do mistake, my honest friend. Tis a foul wrong that you intend. A parson's mare will claim a right in a churchyard to take a bite. And as I come to meditate among these signs of human fate, I beg you will not make a riot. But let the poor beast feed in quiet. No more the conscious sexton said, But urged his labor for the dead, While syntax culled with critic care What the sad muse had written there. Epitaphs Here lies poor Thomas and his wife, Who led a pretty jarring life, But all is ended, do you see? He holds his tongue, and so does she.

If drugs and physic could but save us mortals from the dreary grave, "'tis known that I took full enough of the apothecary's stuff to have prolong'd life's busy feast to a full century at least. But spite of all the doctor's skill of daily draught and nightly pill, reader, as sure as you're alive, I was sent here at twenty-five. Within this tomb a lover lies, Who fell an early sacrifice To Dolly's unrelenting eyes. For Dolly's charms poor Damon burn'd, Disdain the cruel maid return'd. But as she danced in Mayday pride, Dolly fell down, And Dolly died, and now she lies by Damon's side. Be not hard-hearted, then, ye fair, Of Dolly's hapless fate beware, For sure you'd better go to bed To one alive than one who's dead.

Neath the sod the soldier sleeps, Whom cruel war refused to spare, Beside his grave the maiden weeps, And glory plants the laurel there. Honor is the warrior's mead, Or spared to live. Or doomed to die, whether tis his lot to bleed, or join the shout of victory. Alike the laurel to the truly brave that binds the brow or consecrates the grave.

Beneath this stone her ashes rest, whose memory fills my aching breast. She sleeps unconscious of the tear that tells the tale of sorrow here, but still the hope allays my pain that we may live and love again, love with a pure seraphic fire that never, never shall expire.

Syntax the sexton now address'd, as on his spade he lean'd to rest.

We both, my friend, pursue one trade—I for the living, you the dead. For whom that grave do you prepare with such keen haste and cheerful air? Sexton. And please your reverence, lawyer thrust, thank heaven, will moulder here to dust. Never before did I take measure of any grave with half the pleasure. Then when within this hole he's laid, I'll ram the earth down with my spade, I'll take good care he shall not rise, Till summoned to the last assize. And when he sues for heaven's grace, I would not wish to take his place, For once on cruel deed intent, Seiz'd on my goods for want of rent. Now I declare as I'm a sinner, He took away the children's dinner, for, as they sat around the table, eating as fast as they were able, he seized the dishes great and small, the children's bread and milk and all.

The urchins cried, their mother prayed. I begged his rigour might be stayed till I could on our parson call who would engage to pay it all. But he disdained a parson's word, and mocked the suit which I had preferred. He knew a better way to thrive, to pay two pounds by taking five. Bursting with rage I knocked him down, and broke the cruel rascal's crown, for which in county jail I lay half-starving many a bitter day. But our good parson brought relief. And kindly soothed the mother's grief. He, while in prison I remained, my little family sustained. And when I was from Durant's free, made me his sexton, as you see. But, Dr. Worthy, he is gone. You'll read his virtues on the stone that's placed aloft upon the wall where you may see the ivy crawl.

Oh, while his ashes rest below, He's gone where all the righteous go. I dug his grave with many a moan, and almost wished it were my own. I daily view the earthy bed where death has lain'd his reverend head, and when I see a weed appear I pluck it up and shed a tear. The parish grieved, for not an eye in all its large extent was dry, save one. But such a kindly grace ne'er decked a lawyer's iron face. The aged wept a friend long known, the young a parent's loss bemoan, while we, alas, shall long deplore the bounteous patron of the poor. The doctor heard with tearful eye the sexton's grateful eulogy, then sought the stone with gentle tread. As fearing to disturb the dead, and thus in measured tones he read.

For fifty years the pastor trod the way commanded by his God. For fifty years his flock he fed with that divine celestial bread which nourishes the better part and fortifies man's failing heart. His wide, his hospitable door was ever opened to the poor. While he was sought for council sage by every rank and every age, that council sage he always gave to warn, to strengthen, and to save. He sought the sheep that went astray, and pointed out the better way, and while he with smiles approved the virtue he so dearly loved, he did not spare the harsher part. To probe the ulcer to the heart. He sternly gave the wholesome pain That brought it back to health again, And thus the commands of heaven his guide, He lived, and then in peace he died.

SYNTAX Pray tell me, friend, who now succeeds this pastor Fam'd for virtuous deeds? SEXTON A very worthy, pious man, who does us all the good he can, but he, good sir, has got a wife.

who may perhaps disturb his life, a tongue sometimes engenders strife.

No, she's a worthy woman too, but then they've children, not a few. I think it is the will of heaven that they be blessed with six or seven. And then you will agree with me that home's the scene of charity. Syntax. Tis true, nor can your parson preach a sounder doctrine than you teach. And now, good sexton, let me ask, while you perform your mortal task, as day and night you frequent tread the dreary mansions of the dead, if you in very truth can boast that you have ever seen a ghost. Sexton. Your reverence, no, though some folks say that such things have been seen as they. Old women talk in idle chat of ghosts and goblins and all that, while round the glimmering fire at night they fill their hearers with a fright.

"'Tis said that Dr. Worthy walks, and up and down the churchyard stalks. That often—' When the moon shines bright, his form appears all clad in white, but to his soul it is not given to walk on earth, for that's in heaven. All hours I have crossed this place, and ne'er beheld a spirit's face. Once I remember late at night I something saw, both large and white, which made me stop and made me stare, but was the parson's grizzle mare. Such things as these, I do believe, the foolish people oft deceive. And then the parish gossips talk how witches dance and spectres walk. Syntax Your reasoning I much commend. So fare you well, my honest friend. If we act right we need not dread either the living or the dead.

The spirit that disturbs our rest is a bad conscience in our breast, with that a man is doubly cursed. Sexton. That spirit haunted lawyer thrust. Syntax. His race is run, his work is o'er. The wicked man can sin no more. He's gone where justice will be done to all who live beneath the sun. And though he wronged you when alive, let not your vengeance thus survive. Forgive him, now he's laid so low, nor trample on a fallen foe. Once more farewell, but ere we part, here's something that will cheer your heart. Sexton. Your Reverence, twill be some time yet ere I forgive. But to forget— No, no, for though I may forgive, I can't forget him while I live. For your good gift, kind heaven I bless, and wish you health and happiness.

I thank my God each coming day for what he gives and takes away. And now I thank him, good and just, that he has taken lawyer thrust.

Syntax along the village past And down to the dragon came at last, where, as the shepherd boy has said, there seemed to be a busy trade, and seated in an easy chair he found that all he wished was there.

9 09 - Canto 9 14:39

As time conducts him on his way, how oft doth man, by care oppressed, find in an inn a place of rest? Whether intent on worldly views he in deep thought his way pursues, whether by airy pleasure led, or by hope's fond delusions fed he bids adieu to home and strays, Through unknown paths and distant ways, Where'er his fancy bids him roam, In every inn he finds a home.

Should fortune change her favoring wind, Though former friends should prove unkind, Will not an inn his cares beguile, Where on each face he sees a smile? When cold winds blow and tempests lower, and the rain pours in angry shower, the dripping traveller looks around to see what shelter may be found, then on he drives, through thick and thin, to the warm shelter of an inn. Whoe'er would turn their wandering feet, assured their kindest smiles to meet? Whoe'er would go and not depart, with kind wishes from the heart, O let them quit the world's loud din, and seek the comforts of an inn. And as the doric shenstone sung, with plaintive music on his tongue, whoe'er has travelled life's dull round, where'er his changeful tour has been, will sigh to think how oft he found his warmest welcome at an inn.

"'Twas at an inn, in calm repose, heedless of human joys or woes, that Syntax passed a quiet night in pleasing dreams and slumber's light. But in the morn the thunder roared, the clouds their streaming torrents poured, the angry winds impetuous blew, the rattling casement opened flew. Scared at the noise, he rear'd his head. Then, starting quickly from the bed, "'Is it?' he cried, "'the day of doom!' as he bestrode the trembling room. The house's tops with water streamed, the village street a river seemed, while at the tempest all amazed the rustics from their windows gazed. "'I'm not,' he said, disposed to fear.' "'But tis not time to loiter here. I'll change the scene and quick retire from flaming flash to kitchen fire.

Nay, while rude nature's threats prevail, I'll lose the storm in toast and ale." Half-dressed he made a quick retreat, and in the kitchen took his seat, where an old woman told the host what by the lightning she had lost. How a blue flash her sow had struck, had killed a cock, and lamed a duck! With open mouth another came to tell a rick was all in flame, and then declared that on the spire he saw the weathercock on fire. Nay, that so loud the winds were singing, they'd set the peal of bells a-ringing. A dripping tailor entered next, and preached upon the selfsame text. He swore that sitting on his board, while the wind blew and thunder roared, a kind of fiery flame came pop, and bounced, and ran around his shop.

Now here, now there, so quick and nimble, it singed his finger through his thimble, that all about his needles ran, if there was any truth in man, while buttons, at least half a score, were driven through the kitchen door. The sexton, with important mien, gave his opinion on the scene, and, to the doctor drawing near, thus gently whispered in his ear, "'The devil himself his cell has bust, to fly away with lawyer thrust!' Now, having with due patience heard the story which each white preferred, syntax was to the parlour shown. Where he might breakfast all alone. "'I see,' said he, "'I here must stay, and at the dragon pass the day. And this same dragon all my life just hints that I have got a wife.

Nor can I pass the morning better than to indict this wife a letter.' He paused and sighed ere he began, when thus the fond epistle Ran.

My dearest doll, Fall many a day from you and home I've passed away, But though we thus are doomed to part, You're ever present in my heart. Whene'er my prayers to heaven arise At morn or evening sacrifice, Whene'er for heaven's care they sue, I'll ask it for my dolly too. My journey, like life's common road, has its evils and its good, but I've no reason to complain when pleasure has outweighed the pain. With flattering fortune, in my view, glad I the toilsome way pursue, for I've no fear to make a book in which the world will like to look, nor do I doubt will prove a mine for mine own comfort and for thine. But should all fail, I found a friend in my old schoolmate Dickie Bend, who, kind and wealthy, will repay if hope should cheat me on the way.

My ev'ry loss I may sustain and ease ill-fortune of its pain, he has engaged to glad our home with promise of much good to come. Particulars of what I have seen, what I have done, where I have been, I shall reserve for my return, when, as the crackling faggots burn, I will in all domestic glory smoke out my pipe and tell my story. But be assured I'm free from danger. To the world's tricks I'm not a stranger. Whatever risks I'm forced to run, I shall take care of number one. While you at home will keep in view the selfsame care of No. 2. To my kind neighbours I commend the wishes of their distant friend. Within ten days, perhaps a week, I shall York's famous city seek, Where at the post I hope to find a line from Dolly, ever kind.

And if you will the pleasure crown, tell me the prattle of our town. Of all that's passing and has passed since your dear hub beheld it last, and know the truth which I impart, the offspring of my honest heart, that wheresoever I'm doom'd to roam, I still shall find that home is home, that true to love and nuptial vows I shall remain your loving spouse. Such are the tender truths I tell. Conjuncts Carissima, Farewell. Thus he his kindest thoughts revealed, but scarce had he the letter sealed, when straight appeared the trembling host, looking as pale as any ghost. A man's just come into the town who says the castle's tumbled down, and that, with one tremendous blow, the lightning's force has laid it low.

"'What castle, friend?' the doctor cried. "'The castle by the riverside, a famous place where, as folks say, some great king lived in former day. But this fine building long has been a sad and ruinated scene, where owls and bats and starlings dwell, and where, alas, as people tell, at the dark hour when midnight rains—' Ghosts walk all arm'd, and rattle chains. Peace, peace," said Syntax, peace, my friend. Nor to such tales attention lend, but this new thought I must pursue. A castle and a ruin, too. I'll hasten there and take a view. The storm was past, and many a ray of Phoebus now revived the day. When Grizzle to the door was brought, and this famed spot the doctor sought. Upon a rock the castle stood, three sides environed by a flood, where confluent streams uniting lay the craggy rift with foaming wave.

Around the moss-clad walls he walked, and through the inner chambers stalked. And thus exclaim'd, with look profound, the echoes giving back the sound, Let me expatiate here a while. I think this antiquated pile is doubtless in the Saxon style. This was a noble, spacious hall, but why the chapel made so small? I fear our fathers took more care of festive hall than house of prayer. I find these barons, fierce and bold, who proudly lived in days of old, to prayer preferr'd a sumptuous treat, nor went to pray when they could eat. Here all along the banners hung, and here the welcome minstrels sung, the walls with glittering arms bedright display'd an animating sight. Beneath that archway once a gate with Helmed crest in warlike state, the bands marched forth, nor feared the toil of bloody war that gave the spoil.

But now, alas, no more remains than will reward the painter's pains. The palace of the feudal victor now serves for naught but for a picture. Plenty of water here I see. What's a view without a tree? There's something grand in yonder tower, but not a shrub to make a bower. Howe'er I'll try to take the view as well as my best art can do. An heap of stones the doctor found, which loosely lay upon the ground, to form a seat where he might trace the antique beauty of the place. But while his eye observed the line that was to limit the design, the stones gave way, and, said to tell, down from the bank he had long fell. The slush collected for an age received the venerable sage, for at the time the ebbing flood was just retreating from the mud.

But after floundering about Syntax contriv'd to waddle out. Half-stunned, amazed, and covered, or as seldom white has been before, Overwhelm'd with filth and stink and grief, he saw no house to give relief, And thus amid the village din he ran the gauntlet to the inn. An angler threw his hook so pat He caught at once the doctor's hat. A bathing boy who naked stood dashed boldly in the eddying flood, and, swimming onward like a grig, soon overtook the doctor's wig. Grizzle had traced the barren spot where not a blade of grass was got, and, finding naught to tempt her stay, she to the dragon took her way. The ostler cried. Here's some disaster. The mayor's return'd without her master. And soon he came, amid the noise, Of men and women, girls and boys, Glad in the inn to find retreat From the rude insult of the street.

Undress'd, well-wash'd, and put to bed, With mind-disturbed and aching head, In vain poor Syntax sought repose. But lay and counted all his woes. The friendly host with anxious care Now hastes the posset to prepare The cordial draught he kindly gives Which syntax with a smile receives Then seeks in sleep a pause from sorrow In hopes of better fate to-morrow.

10 10 - Canto 10 14:43

His transient joy is chased by sorrow. Today he's blessed, a wretch to-morrow. When in the world he first appears, he hails the light with cries and tears. A schoolboy next, he fears the nod of pedant power, and feels the rod. When to an active stripling groan, the passions seize him as their own. Now lead him here, now drive him there. The alternate sport of joy and care allure him with their glittering treasure, or give the brimming cup of pleasure. While one eludes his eager haste, the other pulls upon the taste. The pointed darts from Cupid's quiver wound his warm heart and pierce his liver. While charmed by fair Belinda's eyes, he dines on groans. And sups on sighs.

If from this gay and giddy round he should escape both safe and sound, perhaps if all things else miscarry he takes it in his head to marry. And in this lottery of life, if he should draw a scolding wife with a few children, eight or ten, for such things happen now and then, Poor hapless man, he knows not where to look around without a care. Ambition in its airy flight may tempt him to some giddy height, but ere the point he can attain he tumbles, ne'er to rise again. Pale avarice may his heart possess, the bane of human happiness, which never feels for others' woe, nor ever Does a smile bestow a wretched, meagre, gripping elf, a foe to all and to himself. Then comes disease with baneful train, and the pale family of pain, till death appears in awful state and calls him to the realms of fate.

How oft is virtue seen to feel The woeful turn of fortune's wheel, While she with golden stores awaits The wicked in their very gates. But virtue still the value knows of honest deeds, And can repose upon the flint a naked head, While vice lies restless on the bed of softest down, And courts in vain the opiate to relieve its pain. It was not vice that e'er could keep dear syntax from refreshing sleep, nor foul thought no wicked art in his pure life e'er bore apart. Some ailment dire his slumber broke, and ere the sun rose he awoke, when such a tremor o'er him passed, he thought that hour would prove his last. His limbs were all besieged by pain. He now grew hot, then cold again. His tongue was parch'd, his lips were dry, and heaving the unbidden sigh, he rang the bell and call'd for aid, then groan'd so loud, the affrighted maid spread the alarm throughout the house, when straight the landlord and his spouse made all dispatch to do their best and ease the sufferings of their guest.

"'Have you a doctor?' Syntax said. "'If not, I shortly shall be dead.' "'Oh, yes, a very famous man. He'll cure you, sir, if physic can. I'll fetch him quick.' A man renowned for his great skill the country round." The landlord soon the doctor brought, whose words were grave, whose looks were thought. By the bedside he took his stand and felt the patient's burning hand. Then, with a scientific face, he told the symptoms of the case. His frames assailed with feverish heats, his pulse with rapid movement beats, and now I think twould do him good were he to lose a little blood. Some other useful matters, too, to ease his pain I have in view. I'll just step home, and in a trice will bring the fruits of my advice.

In the meantime his thirst assuage with tea that's made of balm or sage. He soon return'd, his skill applied, from the vein flow'd the crimson tide, and as the folk behind him stand, he thus declar'd his stern command, At nine these Powders let him take. At ten this draught, the vile shake, and you'll remember at eleven three of these pills must be given. This course you'll carefully pursue, and give at twelve the bolus to. If he should wander in a crack, clap this broad blister on his back, and after he has had the blister, within an hour apply the clister. I must be gone. At three or four I shall return with something more. Now Syntax and his feverish state became the subject of debate. The mistress said she was afraid no medicine would give him aid, for she had heard the screech-owl scream, and had besides a horrid dream, last night the candle burned so blue, while from the fire— A coffin flew, and as she sleepless lay in bed she heard a death-watch at her head.

The maiden ostler too declared that noises strange they both had heard. "'Aye,' said the sexton, "'these portend to the sick man a speedy end, and when that that I've drunk my liquor I'll e'en go straight and fetch the vicar.' The vicar came. A worthy man, and like a good Samaritan, Approached in haste the stranger's bed, Where Syntax lay with aching head. And without any fuss or pother He offered to his reverent brother His purse, his house, and all the care Which a kind heart could give him there, Says Syntax in a languid voice. You make my very soul rejoice. For if within this house I stay, my flesh will soon be turned to clay, for the good doctor means to pop into my stomach all his shop.

I think, dear sir, that I could eat, and physics but a nauseous treat. If all that stuff's to be endured, I shall be killed in being cured. "'Oh,' said the vicar, "'never fear! We'll leave the apparatus here. Come, quick your bed, I pray you, come. This alms shall bear you to my home, where I and my dear mate will find medicine more suited to your mind.' Syntax now rose, but feeble stood, from want of food and loss of blood, But still he ventured to repair to the good vicar's house and care, and found at dinner pretty picking in pudding-boiled and roasted chicken. Again t'was honest Grizzle's fate to take her way through Churchyard Gate, and, undisturbed, once more to riot in the green feast of Churchyard Diet.

The vicar was at Oxford bred, And had much learning in his head, But what was far the better part, He had much goodness in his heart. He also had a charming wife, The pride and pleasure of his life, A loving, kind, and friendly creature, As blessed in virtue as in feature, Who, without blisters, drugs, or pills, Her patient cured of all his ills. Three days he stayed a welcome guest, and ate and drank of what was best. When, on the fourth, in health renewed, his anxious journey he pursued. In two days more before his eyes the stately towers of York arise. "'But what,' said he, "'can all this mean? What is yon crowded busy scene?' Ten thousand souls, I do maintain, are scattered over yonder plain.

"'Aye, more than that,' a man replied, who trotted briskly by his side. "'And if you choose I'll be your guide. For sure you will not pass this way and miss the pleasure of the day. Those are the races, to whose sport nobles and gentry all resort.' Thought syntax? I'll just take a look. "'Twill give a subject to my book." So on they went. The highway friend, his services, did thus commend. "'I will attend you to the course, and tell the name of every horse. But first we'll go and take a wet, and then I'll teach you how to bet. I'll name the horse that's doomed to win. We'll take the knowing fellows in." Just as he spoke the sports began. The jockeys whipped, the horses ran, and when the coursers reached the post the man screamed out, Your horse has lost.

I've had the luck, I've won the day, and you have twenty pounds to pay. Syntax looked wild. The man said, Zounds, you know you betted twenty pounds, so pay them down, or you'll fare worse, for I will flog you off the course. The doctor raved and disavowed the bold assertion to the crowd. What would have been his hapless fate in this most unexpected state may well be guessed, but, lo, a friend Fortune was kind enough to send. An honest squire, who smoked the trick, appeared well armed with oaken stick, and, placing many a sturdy blow upon the shoulders of the foe, It is with all my soul I beat this vile, most notorious cheat, the squire exclaimed. And you, good folk, who sometimes love a pleasant joke, as I am partly tired of thumping, should treat the scoundrel with a pumping.

The crowd, with their commission pleased, rudely the trembling blackleg seized, who, to their justice forced to yield, Soon ran off dripping from the field. Syntax his simple story told. The squire, as kind as he was bold, his full protection now affords, and cheered him both with wine and words. I love the clergy from my heart, and always take a parson's part. My father, doctor, wore the gown. A better man was never known. But an old uncle, a poor elf, who, to save riches, starved himself, by his last will bequeathed me clear at least two thousand pounds a year, and saved me all the pains at college, to pour o'er books and aim at knowledge. Thus, free from care, I live at ease, go where I will, do what I please, pursue my sports, enjoy my pleasure.

Nor envy lords their splendid treasure. I have an house at York beside, Where you shall go and straight reside, And every kindness shall be shown, Both for my dad's sake and your own. For no good sir I'm never loth, To mark my friendship for the cloth. Heart is my name, and you shall find A welcome doctor to your mind. And I've a wife, so blithe and gay, Who ne'er says yes when I say nay. Syntax observed, that was a blessing A man might boast of in possessing. At length arrived a lady fair Received them with a winning air. "'Ah!' said the squire, "'I always come, my dearest girl, with pleasure home. You see a reverent doctor here.' So give him of your choicest cheer. Yes, she replied, oh yes, my dear, nor fail all kindness to bestow.

Oh no, my dear, she said, oh no. Thus happy Syntax joined the party of Madam and of Squire Hearty.

11 11 - Canto 11 16:50

Canto XI In this sad variegated life Evil and good in daily strife Contend we find Which shall be master Now fortune smiles Then sad disaster assumes in turn its frowning power, and gives to man his checkered hour. With checkered hours good syntax thought, and well he might, his journey fraught. But still he hoped when all was past that he should comfort find at last. Thus with unlooked-for kindness blest, No fears alarm his tranquil breast. He eats and drinks and goes to rest, and when the welcome morrow came, the squire and madam were the same. Just as the minster clock struck nine, coffee and tea and fowl and chine appeared all in their due array to give the breakfast of the day. The squire then the talk began, and thus the conversation ran.

Squire Hearty. Doctor, you may truly believe the pleasure which I now receive in seeing you as you sit there in what was once my father's chair. I pray you think this house your home. Ay, though it were three months to come, here you will find yourself at ease. May read or write just as you please. At nine we breakfast, as you see. Dinner is always here at three. At six my wife will give you tea. Mrs. Hardy. And should you find the evening long, I'll play a tune and sing a song. Squire Hardy. Besides, you'll range the country round. Some curious things may there be found. Your genius, too, may chance to trace within this celebrated place. Some ancient building worth a look that may perhaps enrich your book.

I'm a true Briton, as you see. I love good cheer and liberty, and what I love myself I'll give to others while I'm doomed to live. This morning I intend to go to see the military show. The light dragoons now quartered here will all in grand review appear. They are a regiment of renown, and some great general is come down to see them all in bright array at the fierce battle of the day. If you should like such sights as these, if warlike feats your fancy please, we'll to the common take a ride, and I myself will be your guide. So if you please within an hour our nag shall be before the door.

I will be ready to attend the summons of my worthy friend. The laurel'd heroes my delight, with plumed crest and helmet bright. E'en when a boy at early age I read in Homer's lofty page how the stout Greeks, in time of yore, brought havoc to the Phrygian shore. I reveled in that ancient story, and burned with ardent lust of glory. Whene'er I traced the fields of Troy, my heart beat high with martial joy. Tis true, I pray, that war may cease, and Europe hail returning peace. Yet still I feel my bosom glow when British heroes meet the foe, when our armoured legends make him fly. And yield the palm of victory, or when our naval thunders roar, and terrify the Gallic shore. This grand review will give me pleasure, and I shall wait upon your leisure.

But as no time was to be lost, Syntax now hastened to the post. The post obeyed his loud command, and gave a letter to his hand. With eager haste the seal he broke, and thus the fond epistle spoke. My dearest husband, on my life I thought you had forgot your wife, while she, to her affection true, was always thinking love on you. By this time I presume you've made no small advancement in your trade. I mean, my dear, that this same book to which I with impatience look Is full of promise, and I'm bold to hope for a return in gold. I have no doubt that ample gains Will well reward your learned pains, And with a bounteous store repay Your anxious toil of many a day. For well, my dearest friend, I know, Where'er you are compelled to go, You still must sigh that you should be So long away from love.

and me. I truly say my heart doth burn with ardent wish for your return. And that I may my syntax meet with all due honour when we meet, the milliner is now preparing a dress that will be worth the wearing, just such a one as I have seen in Ackerman's last magazine, where, by the skilful painter's aid, such fashion is so well display'd. A robe of crape with satin bodice will make me look like any goddess. A mantle, too, is all the ton, and therefore I have ordered one. I have also got a lilac bonnet, and placed a yellow feather on it. Thus I shall be so very smart, that I will vex Miss Raisin to the heart. Oh, it will make me burst with laughter! To plague that purse-proud grocer's daughter. While through the town, as you shall see, No one will be so fine as me.

Oh, with what pleasure and delight I shall present me to your sight! How shall I hug you, dearest honey, When you return brimful of money? Syntax exclaimed in accents sad, The woman's surely gone stark mad. To ruin all her airs will tend. But I'll read on and see the end.

As to the news, why, you must know, things in their usual order go. Jobs and the tanners run away, and has not left a dot to play. Bette Bumpkin was last Thursday married, and Mrs. Stillbourne has miscarried. In the high street the other day— Good Mrs. Squeamish swooned away, and was so ill as it was said that she was borne away for dead. But Mother Gossip, who knows all, the neighbours round, both great and small, has hinted to me as she thinks that pious Mrs. Squeamish drinks. There is a lady just come down, a dashing frisky dame from town, to visit Madam Stapleton. She said to be a London toast, but has no mighty charms to boast, for it is clear to my keen sight that she lays on both red and white.

She drives about in chaise and pear, and I have heard concurse and swear. But I mind not these things, not I. I never deal in calumny. So fare you well, my dearest life, and I remain. Your loving wife.

Ah, but if you fear that you shall come without a bag of money home, to a better far that you should take a leap at once into the lake, I'd rather hear that you were drowned than that you should my hopes confound. These tender lines did not impart much comfort to the doctor's heart. He therefore thought it would be better to lay aside this pretty letter, nor suffer its contents to sour the pleasure of the present hour. The squire now became his guide, so off they trotted side by side, and ere they passed a mile or two beheld the scene of the review, the troops drawn up in proud array and animating sight-display. The well-formed squadrons wheel around, the standers wave, the trumpets sound, when Grizzle, long inured to war, and not without an honored scar, found all her former spirits glow as when she used to meet the foe.

No ear she pricked, for she had none, nor cocked her tail, for that was gone, but still she snorted, frowned and flounced. Then up she reared, and off she bounced, and, having played these pretty pranks, dashed all at once into the ranks, while Syntax, though unused to fear, suspected that his end was near. But though his courage gan to addle, he still stuck close upon his saddle, while to the trumpets on the hill Grizzle sped fast, and then stood still. With them she closed her warlike race, And took with pride her ancient place, For Grizzle, as we've told before, wants to the wars a trumpet oar. At length recovered from his fright The doctor stayed and viewed the sight, And then with heart as light as cork He with his friend jogged back to York, Where was renewed the friendly fair And every comfort promised there.

The time in chit-chat passed away, Till the chimes told the closing day. And now, says pleasant Madam Hearty, What think you if our little party Should each to sing a song agree? To give a sweet variety. Thus let the passing moments roll, Till Thomas brings the evening bowl. The doctor sure will do his best, and kindly grant my poor request. The doctor, though by nature grave, and rather formed to tune a stave, whene'er he got a little mellow, was a most merry pleasant fellow, would sing a song, or tell a riddle, or play a hornpipe on the fiddle, and, being now a little gay, declared his wishes to obey. Then I'll begin, Squire Hearty said, though by land my tours are made, whene'er I tune a song or glee, I quit the land and go to sea.

The signal given we seek the main where tempests rage and billows roar, nor know we if we e'er again shall anchor on our native shore. But as through surging waves we sail, and distant seas and isles explore, hope whispers that some future gale will waft us to our native shore. When battle rages all amain, and hostile arms their vengeance pour, we British sailors will maintain the honour of our native shore. But should we find a watery grave, a nation will our loss deplore. And tears will mingle with the wave That breaks upon our native shore. And after many a battle won, When every toil and danger's o'er, How great the joy, each duty done To anchor on our native shore. A Mrs. Harty's Song Cupid, away, thy work is o'er, Go seek Idalia's flowery grove.

Your pointed darts will pain no more. Hymen has healed the wounds of love. Hymen is here, and all is rest. To distant flight thy pinions move. No anxious doubts, no fears molest. Hymen has soothed the pangs of love. Cupid away, the deed is done, Away, mid other scenes to rove, For Ralph and Isabel are one. And Hyman guards the home of love. The doctor now his reverence made, and Madame Smilingnod obeyed. "'Your songs,' said he, "'have gidd'n'y pleasure, as well in subject as in measure. But in some modern songs the taste is far, I am sure, from being chaste. Did you not make the least pretence to poetry or common sense?' Some coarse conceits, a lively air, with a de capo here and there, of uncouth words which ne'er were found in any language that's above ground, and these set off with some strange phrase, compose our sing-song nowadays.

The dancing master of my school in this way oft would play the fool, and make one laugh, and one knows not why. But we had better laugh than cry. The song which you are about to hear will of this character appear. From London it was sent him down as a great favourite through the town. Dr. Syntax's Song I've got a scold of a wife, the plague and storm of my life. Oh, were she in a coal-pit bottom, and all such jades, odd-rotum! My cares would then be over, and I should live in clover, with harem, scarrem, horum, scorum, stewed prunes for ever, stewed prunes for ever. Brother Tom's in the Conlin tree as blithe as blithe can be, while Dorothy sits below where the daffodillies grow, and many a slender rush, and blackberries all on a bush, with harem, scarrem, etc., etc.

We'll all to the castle go, like grenadiers all of a row, while the horn and trump shall sound, as we pace the ramparts round, where many a lady fair comes forth to take the air, with harem-scarrem, etc., etc. The vessel spreads her sails to cats the rising gales, and dances o'er the wave, while many a love-lorn slave to his mistress tells his tale. Far off in the distant vale, with harem-scarum, etc., etc. When the dew is on the rose, and the wanton zephyr blows, when lilies raise their head, and harebells' fragrance shed, then I to the rocks will hie and sing a lullaby, with harem-scarum, etc., etc. By famed Elysius' stream, how oft I fondly dream, when I read in classic pages, Of all the ancient sages, but they were born to die, and so were you and I, with harem, scarrem, whorem, scorem, stewed prunes for ever, stewed prunes for ever.

And thus, with many a pleasant lay, the party closed the exhausted day.

12 12 - Canto 12 13:47

Life is a journey. On we go through many a scene of joy and woe. Time flits along and will not stay. Nor let us linger on the way. Like as a stream whose varying course Now rushes with impetuous force, Now in successive eddies plays, Or in meanders gently strays, It still moves on, till spreading wide It mingles with the briny tide, And when it meets the ocean's roar The limpid waves are seen no more. Such. Such is life's uncertain way. Now the sun wakes the enlivening day, The scene around enchants the sight To cool retreat the shades invite, The blossoms' balmy fragrance shed, The meads of verdant carpet spread, While the clear rill reflects below The flowers that on its margins grow, And the sweet songsters of the grove Attune to harmony.

And love. But lo! the clouds obscure the sky, And tell the bursting tempest nigh, The vivid flash, the pelting storm, Fair nature's every grace deform, While their assailing powers annoy The pensive pilgrim's tranquil joy. But though no tempests should molest The bower where he stops to rest, Care will not let him long remain, but sets him on his way again. Thus Syntax, whom the squire had press'd for three whole months to take his rest, sigh'd when he found he could not stay to loiter through another day. "'No!' he exclaim'd, "'I must away. I have a splendid book to make, to form a tour, to paint a lake.' And by that well-protected tome to carry fame and money home. And should I fail, my loving wife will lead me such a precious life, That I had better never more approach'd my then forgotten door.

"'Twas thus he pondered as he lay, When the sun told another day, Nor long the downy couch he press'd, Where busy thought disturb'd his rest. But quick-prepared, with grateful heart, from this warm mansion to depart, the Squire, to his professions true, thus spoke at once his kind adieu. I'm sorry, sir, with all my heart, that you and I so soon must part. Your virtues my regard engage, I venerate the reverent sage. And though I've not the mind to toil in learning's way by midnight oil, yet still I feel the reverence due to all such learned men as you. Nor can I urge your longer stay when science calls you far away. But still I hope you'll not refuse my friendly tribute to the muse, and when again you this way come, again you'll find this house a home.

Besides, I mean to recommend your labours to a noble friend, who well is known to rank as high in learning as in quality, who can your merits well review, a statesman and a poet too. He will your genius truly scan, for though a lord, a learned man. For C is an honoured name, whose virtue and unsullied fame will decorate the historic page. and live through every future age. That courteous lord doth condescend to know me for a faithful friend. And when you to his lordship give the letter which you now receive, expect on his right noble part a welcome that will cheer your heart. To, hmm, then repair, and honour will attend you there. Nor fear, my friend, that gilded state will frown upon your humble fate.

My lord is good as he is great. Syntax Your kindness surely knows no end. You are in truth a real friend. Nor can my feeble tongue express this unexpected happiness. For if this noble lord should deign my feeble labours to sustain— With the all-cheering splendid rays of his benign protecting praise, my fortune will at once be made, and I shall bless the author's trade. Thus as he spoke, Squire Hearty gave the letter syntax longed to have, and with it a soft silky note, on which two coal-black words were wrote, the sight of which his sense confounds. For these said words were twenty pounds. "'Check,' said the squire, "'your wondering look. "'Tis my subscription to your book, "'and when tis printed you will send "'a copy to your Yorkshire friend.

"'Besides, I'll try to sell a score among my neighbours here, or more.' The doctor's tongue made no reply, but his heart heaved a grateful sigh. Nor, as he sits, can we do better than to repeat the promised letter.

My Lord, this liberty I take for laughter and for merit's sake. And when the bearer shall appear in your fine mansion's atmosphere, his figure will your spirits cheer. You need no other topic seek. He'll furnish laughter for a week. But still, I say, and tell you true, you'll love him for his merit, too. You'll see at once in this divine Quixote and Parson Adams shine. And here are well combined your view for Fielding and Cervantes, too. Besides, my lord, if I can judge, in classic lore he's used to drudge. But do but hear his simple story. Let him but lay it all before you. And you will thank me for my letter, and say that you are hearty's debtor. Nay, when your sides are tired with mirth, your heart will feel his real worth.

I know your kindness will receive him, and to your favour thus I leave him. So I remain with zeal most fervent, your lordship's true and hearty servant. R. H. York.

The doctor now prepared to go with heart of joy and look of woe. He silent seized the squire's hands and asked with madam her commands. The squire exclaimed, Why so remiss? She bids you take a hearty kiss, and if you think that one won't do, I beg you, sir, you'll give her two. Nay, then, says Syntax, you shall see, and straight he gave the lady three. Nor did he linger to exclaim, He ne'er had kiss'd a fairer dame. The lady blushing thanked him too, And in soft accents said adieu. Syntax, since first he left his home, Had no such view of good to come, As now before his fancy rose, To bid him laugh at future woes. And I forgive her malice past. Clad in sea's benignant form, her power no more will wake the storm, nor ere again her anger shed in frequent showers upon my head.

Now, after a short morning's ride, in eager hope and fancy's pride, the doctor views in conscious smile fair Hurn's splendid pile. Not Versailles makes a finer show, As, passing o'er the lofty brow, The stately scene is viewed below. My lord received him with a grace Which marked the sovereign of the place. Nor was poor syntax made to feel The pride which fools so oft reveal, Who think it a fine state decorum When humble merit stands before em. But here was birth from folly free, here was the true nobility, where human kindness gilds the crest, the first of virtue and the best. An hour in pleasant chit-chat passed, the welcome dinner came at last, and now the hungry syntax eats of high ragots and dainty meats.

Nor was the good man found to shrink whenever he was asked to drink. My Lord. What think you, Doctor, of the show of pictures that around you glow? Syntax. I'll by and by enjoy the treat, but now, my lord, I'd rather eat. My Lord. What say you to this statue here? Does it not flesh and blood appear? Syntax. I'm sure, my lord, tis very fine, but I just now prefer your wine. I wonder you can keep your eye from forms that do with nature vie. Nay, in my mind, my reverent friend, nature's best works they far transcend. Look at that picture of the Graces. What lovely forms, what charming faces. They're charms, Sir John, I shall discover I have no doubt when dinner's over. At present, if to judge I'm able— The finest works are on the table.

I should prefer the cook just now to Rubens or to Gerard Dow. My Lord, I wish to judge by certain rules the Flemish and Italian schools, and nicely to describe the merits or beauty which its school inherits.

Though in their way they're both bewitching, I now prefer your lordship's kitchen. The dinner done, the punch appears, and many a glass their spirits cheers. The festive hours thus pass'd away till time brought on the closing day. The doctor talk'd, nor ceased his quaffing, while all around were sick with laughing. My lord, again the subject I renew, and wish you would the pictures view.

To view them now would be a trouble. For faith, my lord, my eyes see double. My lord, to bed then we had best repair. I give you to the butler's care. A sage grave man who will obey whate'er your reverence has to say. The sage grave man appeared and bowed. I am of this good office proud, but tis the custom of this place, from country yeoman to his grace. Whene'er a stranger guest we see, To make him of the cellar free. To you the same respect we bear, And therefore beg to lead you there, Where every noble butt doth claim The honour of some titled name. The servants waited on the stairs With cautious form and humble airs. Lead on, says Syntax, I'll not stay, But follow where you lead the way. The butler cried, You'll understand it is our noble lord's command to give this reverend doctor here a sample of our strongest beer, so tap her grace of Devonshire.

At length the potent liquor flows which makes poor man forget his woes. Syntax exclaimed, His honours boast the health of our most noble host, and let fair Devon crown the toast. The cups were cheered with loyal song, but cups like these ne'er lasted long, and Syntax stammered, Do you see? Now I'm of this famed cellar free. I wish I might be quickly led to enjoy my freedom in a bed. He wished but once, and was obeyed, and soon within a bed was laid, where all the day's strange business o'er. He now was left to sleep and snore.

End of Canto XII.

13 13 - Canto 13 14:25

How oft, with many a vision bright, Doth she the wayward heart delight, And, with a fond enlivening smile, The heavy hour of care beguile. But though so oft she scatters flowers To make more gay our waking hours, Night is the time where o'er the soul She exercises full control, While life's more active functions pause And sleep its sable curtain draws. "'Tis then she waves her fairy wand, and strange things rise at her command. She then assumes her motley reign, and man lives o'er his life again, while many an airy dream invites her wizard masks her wanton sprites. Through the warm brain the phantoms play and form a visionary day. Thus Syntax, while the bed he press'd, and pass'd the night in balmy rest, was led in those unconscious hours by fancy to her fairy bowers, where the light spirits wander free in whimsical variety.

No more an humble curate now, he feels a mitre on his brow. The mildew'd surplus Thus withdrawn, yields to the fine transparent lawn, And Peruk that defied all weather Is nicely dressed to ape a feather. Grizzle no more is seen to wail Her mangled ears and butchered tail. Six grizzles now, with every ear And all their flowing tails appear. When, harnessed to a light barouche, The ground they do not seem to touch, While onward world in wild surprise The air-blown prelate thinks he flies. Now through the long cathedral aisle Where vergers bow and virgins smile, With measured step and solemn air He gains at length the sacred chair. And to the crowd, with look profound, Bestows his holy blessing round.

Above the peeling organs blow, to the respondent choir below, when, bending to religion's shrine, he feels an energy divine. Now scaped from Dolly's angry clutches, he thinks he's married to a duchess, and that her rank and glowing beauty enliven his prelatic duty. Thus fancy with her antic train passed nimbly through the doctor's brain, and while she told her varying story of short-lived pomp and fading glory, a voice upon the vision broke, when syntax gave a grunt and woke. And may it please you, I've a word, to tell your reverence from my lord. "'A lord?' he cried. "'Why, to be free, I've been as good a lord as he. Throughout the night I've been as great as any lord with all his state. And now that fine-drawn scene is o'er, I'm poor syntax as before.

You spoil my fortune, tis most certain, the moment you withdrew the curtain. So, if you please, my pretty maid—' "'You'll tell me what my lord has said.' "'My lord has sent to let you know that breakfast is prepared below. Let my respects upon him wait, and say that I'll be with him straight.' Out then he bounced upon the floor, the maid ran shouting through the door, so much the figure of the doctor, in his unrobed condition, shocked her. Syntax now hastened to obey the early summons of the day. He humbly bowed and took his seat, nor did his lordship fail to greet with kindest words his reverend guest. And how he had enjoyed his rest, hoped every comfort he had found, that his night's slumbers had been sound, and that he was prepared to share with keen regard his morning's fare.

The doctor smiled, and soon made free with my lord's hospitality, then told aloud his golden dream, which proved of mirth a fruitful theme. "'Tis true," he said, when I awoke, the charm dissolved, the spell was broke, the mitre and its grand display, with my fine wife all passed away. The wakening voice my fortune cross'd, I op'd my eyes, and all was lost. But still I find to my delight I have not lost my appetite. Sir John. As for the mitre and the gold, which fancy gave you to behold, they to a mind with learning fraught do not deserve a passing thought. But I lament that such a bride— Should thus be stolen from your side.

For that choice good I need not roam. I've got, Sir John, a wife at home, Who can from morn to night contrive To keep her family alive. Such sprightly measures she can take That no one sleeps when she's awake. For me, if fortune would but shower Some portion of her wealth and power, I would forgive her all my life, though she forgot to add a wife. Indeed, Sir John, we don't agree nor join in our philosophy. For did you know what that man knows, had you e'er felt his cutting woes, who has of taunts a daily plenty, whose head is combed, whose pockets empty? You ne'er would call those shiners trash, whose touch is life, whose name is— CASH. My Lord. A truce, I pray, to your debate. The hunters all impatient wait, and much I hope our learned clerk will take a gallop in the park.

SYNAX. Your sport, my lord, I cannot take, for I must go and hunt a lake. And while you chance the flying deer, I must fly off to Windermere. Instead of hallowing to a fox— I must catch echoes from the rocks. With curious eye and active scent, I, on the picturesque, am bent. This is my game. I must pursue it, and make it where I cannot view it. Though in good truth, but do not flout me, I bear that selfsame thing about me. If in man's form you wish to see the picturesque, pray look at me. I am myself without a flaw the very picturesque I draw. A rector, in whose face so sleek, in vain you for a wrinkle seek, in whose fair form, so fat and round, no obtuse angles to be found. On such a shape no man of taste would his fine tints or canvas waste.

But take a curate. Who's so thin his bones seem peeping through his skin. Make him to stand or walk or sit in any posture you think fit. And with all these nice points about him, no well-taught painter e'er would scout him. For with his air and look and mean he'd give effect to any scene. In my poor beast as well as me a fine example you may see. She's so abrupt in all her parts. Oh, what fine subjects for the arts! Thus, thus we travel on together, With gentle gale or stormy weather. And though we trot along the plains Where one dead level ever rains, Or pace where rocks and mountains rise, Who lift their head and brave the skies? I, Dr. Syntax, and my horse. Give to the landscape double force.

I have no doubt I shall produce a volume of uncommon use, that will be worthy to be placed beneath the eye of men of taste. And should I hope, my lord, that you will praise it and protect it too, will let your all-sufficient name the twofold patronage proclaim, that time may know Till time doth end that C. was my honoured friend. Sir John. And can you, learned Dr. C., when that important hour shall be? Syntax. Sir Knight, that was not wisely spoke, the point's too serious for a joke, and you must know by heaven's decree that hour will come to you and me. And then succeeds eternity. My Lord. Peace, peace, Sir John, and let me tell the doctor that I wish him well. I know not, but his work will prove most useful to the arts I love.

But pray, good sir, come up to town, that seat of wealth and of renown. Come up to town, nor fear the cost, nor time nor labour shall be lost. I'll ope my door and take you in. You've made me laugh, and you shall win. We'll then consult how I can best advance your real interest. And here this piece of writing take. You'll use it for the donor's sake. I mean, you see, that it shall crown your wishes while you stay in town. But you may, as it suits you, use it. No one, I fancy, will refuse it. The doctor, when he viewed the paper, instead of bowing, cut a caper. My lord now sought the expected chase, and syntax in his usual pace, when four long tedious days had passed, the town of Keswick reached at last, where he the famous work prepared of all his toil the hoped reward.

Soon as the morn began to break, Old Grizzle bore him to the lake. Along the banks he gravely paced, and all its various beauties traced. When, lo, a threatening storm appeared, Phoebus the sea no longer cheered. The dark clouds sunk on every hill, the floating mists the valleys fill. Nature, transform'd, began to lower, and threaten'd a tremendous shower. "'I love,' he cried, to hear the rattle, when elements contend in battle. For I insist, though some may flout it, who write about it and about it, that we the picturesque may find in thunder-loud or whistling wind, and often, as I fully ween, it may be heard as well as seen. For though a pencil cannot trace a sound as it can paint a place, The pen, in its poetic rage, can make it figure on the page.

A fisherman who passed that way thought it civility to say, "'And please you, sir, "'tis all in vain to take your prospects in the rain. On horseback, too, you'll ne'er be able. "'Twer better sure to get a table." "'Thanks,' Syntax said, "'for your advice.' And faith, I'll take it in a trice, for as I moisten to the skin, I'll seek a table at the inn. But Grizzle, in her haste to pass, lured by a tempting tuft of grass, a luckless step now chanced to take, and sous the doctor in the lake. But as it proved no worse disaster befell poor Grizzle and her master, Than both of them could well endure, and a warm inn would shortly cure. To that warm inn they quickly hide, Where Syntax by the fireside Sat in the landlord's garments clad, But neither sorrowful nor sad, Nor did he waste his hours away, But gave his pencil all its play, and traced the landscapes of the day.

End of Canto XIII.

14 14 - Canto 14 15:07

CANTO XIV Nature, dear Nature, is my goddess, Whether arrayed in rustic bodice, Or when the nicest touch of art doth to her charms new charms impart. But still I somehow love her best when she's in ruder mantle-dress'd. I do not mean in shape grotesque, but when she's truly picturesque. Thus the next morning, as he strayed, and the surrounding scene surveyed, Syntax exclaimed. A party stood just on the margin of the flood. Who were in statu quo to make a little voyage on the lake. The doctor forward stepped to show the wealth of his portfolio. The ladies were quite pleased to view such pretty pictures as he drew, while a young man, a neighboring squire, expressed a very warm desire which seemed to come from honest heart that of their boat he'd take a part.

Now from the shore they quickly sailed, and soon the doctor's voice prevailed. This is a lovely scene of nature, but I've enough of land and water. I want some living thing to show how far the picturesque will go. Lady. See, sir, how swift the swallows fly, and, lo, the lark ascends on high. We scarce can view him in the sky. Behold the wild fowl, how they spread upon the lake's expansive bed. The kite sails through the airy way, prepared to pounce upon its prey. The rooks, too, from their morning food, pass clawing to the distant wood.

When with a philosophic eye the realms of nature I descry, and view the grace that she can give, To all the varying forms that live, I feel with awe the plastic art That doth such wondrous powers impart. To all that wing the air, or creep Along the earth, or swing to the deep, I love the winged world that flies Through the thin azure of the skies. Or, not in deign'd those heights to scan, Live the familiar friends of man. And in his yard or round his cot enjoy poor things their destin'd lot. But though their plumes are gay with dyes in endless bright diversities— What though such glowing tints prevail when the proud peacock spreads his tail? What though the nightingales prolong through the charm'd night the enchanting song?

What though the blackbird and the thrush? Make vocal every verdant bush. Not one among the winged kind presents an object to my mind. Their grace and beauty's naught to me, in all their vast variety, the picturesque I cannot see. A carrion fowl tied to a stake will a far better picture make, when as a scarecrow tis display'd to make all thievish birds afraid, Than the white swan in all its pride sailing upon the crystal tide. As a philosopher I scan, where'er kind heaven has made for man, I feel it a religious duty to bless its use and praise its beauty. I care not whatsoe'er the creature, whate'er its name, its form and feature, so that fond nature will aver the creature doth belong to her. But though indeed I may admire the greyhound's form and snake's attire, they neither will my object suit, like a good shaggy, ragged brute.

I will acknowledge that a goose is a fine fowl of sovereign use. But for a picture she's not fitted. The bird was made but to be spitted. The pigeon, I'll be bound to show it, is a fine subject for a poet. In the soft verse his mate he woos, turns his gay neck and bills and coos, and, as in amorous strut he moves, soothes the fond heart of him who loves. But I'll not paint him, no, not I. I like him better'n a pie, well rubbed with salt and spicy dust, and thus embodied in a crust. How many a bird that haunts the wood! How many a fowl that cleaves the flood, With their sweet songs enchant my ear, Or please my eye as they appear, When in their flight, or as they row, Delighted on the lake below.

But still, whate'er their form or feather, You cannot make them group together, For let them swim, or let them fly, The picturesque they all defy. The bird that's sitting quite alone is fit but to be carved in stone, and any man of taste twould shock to paint these wild geese in a flock. Though I like not a single figure, whether tis lesser or tis bigger, that fisherman so lean and lank who sits alone upon the bank tempts not the eye, but doff his coat and quickly group him with a boat, and then— We'll see the fellow make a pretty object on the lake. If a boy's playing with a hoop, tis something, for it forms a group. In painter's eye, what a joke, to place a bird upon an oak. At the same time t'would help the jest upon the branch to fix a nest.

A trout, with all its prettied eyes of various hues, delights the eyes, but still it is a silly whim To make him on a canvas swim. Yet I must own that dainty fish looks very handsome in a dish, and he must be a thankless sinner who thinks a trout a paltry dinner. The first, the middle, and the last in picturesque is bold contrast, and painting has no nobler use than this grand object to produce. Such is my thought, and I'll pursue it. There's an example. You shall view it. Look at that tree. Then take a glance at its fine, bold protuberance. Behold those branches, how their shade is by the mass of light displayed. Look at that light, and see how fine the backward shadows make it shine. The sombre clouds that spot the sky Make the blue vaulting twice as high, and where the sunbeams warmly glow, they make the hollow twice as low.

The Flemish painters all surpass in making pictures smooth as glass. In Cupid's best work there's pretty painting, but the bold picturesque is wanting. Thus, though I leave the birds to sing or cleave the air with rapid wing, Thus, though I leave the fish to play, till the net drags them into day, kind nature, ever bounteous mother, contrives it in some way or other our proper wishes to supply in infinite variety. The world of quadrupeds displays the painter's art in various ways, but tis some shaggy, ragged brute that will my busy purpose suit. Or such as, from their shape and make, no fine-wrought, high-bred semblance take. A well-fed horse with shining skin, form'd for the course and plates to win, may have his beauties, but not those that will my graphic art disclose.

My raw-boned mare is worth a score of those fine-pampered beasts, and more, to give effect to bold design And decorate such views as mine. To the fine steed you sportsmen bow, but picturesque prefers a cow. On her high hips and horned head how true the light and shade are shed! Indeed I should prefer by half, to a fine colt a common calf, the unshorn sheep, the shaggy goat. The ass with rugged, ragged coat would to a taste-inspired mine leave the far-famed eclipse behind. In a grand stable he might please, but ne'er should graze beneath my trees. Caught by his words, the northern squire failed not his learning to admire, but yet he had a wish to quiz the doctor's humor and his phiz. I have a house, he said, at hand, where you my service may command.

There I have cows and asses too, and pigs and sheep, sir, not a few, where you at your untroubled leisure may draw them as it suits your pleasure. You shall be welcome with your mayor, and find a country squire's fair. If a few days with us you pass, we'll give you meat, and give her grass. Thus twas agreed. They came on shore. The party sauntered on before, but ere they reached the mansion fair, Grizzle had borne her master there. It was indeed a pleasant spot that this same country squire had got, and Syntax now the party joined, with salutation free and kind. Why, my good sir, you have not kissed her.

Do not suppose I am such a brute as to disdain the sweet salute?

And this, sir, is my loving wife, the joy and honour of my life.

Lovely lady to the view, and with your leave I'll kiss her too. Thus pleasant words the converse cheered. Till dinner on the board appeared, Where the warm welcome gave a zest To all the plenty of the feast. The doctor ate and talked and quaffed, The good host smiled, the ladies laughed. Squire. As you disdain both fowl and fish, Think you your art could paint that dish? Syntax. Though twill to hunger give relief— There's nothing picturesque in beef. But there are artists, if you'll treat em, will paint your dinners, that is, eat em. But sure your pencil might command whate'er is noble, vast, and grand, the beasts forsooth of Indian land, where the fierce savage tiger scowls, and the fell-hungry lion growls.

These beasts may all be subjects fit, but for their likeness will they sit. I'll only take a view a scant from the tall back of Elephant, with half a hundred Indians round me, that sharp claws might not confound me. But now, as we have ceased to dine, and I have had my share of wine, I should be glad to close the feast by drawing some more harmless beast. The doctor found a quick consent, and to the farm their way they bent. A tub, inverted, formed his seat, the animals, their painter-meat, cows, asses, sheep, ducks, and geese present themselves to grace the peace. Poor Grizzle, too, among the rest, of the true picturesque possessed, quitted the meadow to appear, and took her station in the rear.

The sheep all barred, the asses brayed, the moo-cows lowed, and grizzle neighed. "'Stop, brutes!' he cried. "'Your noisy glee! I do not want to hear. But see, though by the picturesqueth laws, you're better too with open jaws.' The doctor now, with genius big, drew first a cow and next a pig. A sheep now on the paper passes, And then he sketched a group of asses. Nor did he fail to do his duty in giving Grizzle all her beauty. "'And now,' says Miss, a laughing elf, "'I wish, sir, you would draw yourself.' "'With all my heart,' the doctor said, "'but not with horns upon my head. "'And then I hope you'll draw my face.' "'In vain, fair maid, my art would trace.' Those winning smiles, that native grace.

The beams of beauty I disclaim, the picturesque's my only aim. My pencil skill is mostly shown in drawing faces like my own. Where time, alas, and anxious care have placed so many wrinkles there. Now all beneath the spreading tree they chat and sip their evening tea. Where Syntax told his various fate, his studious life, and married state, and that he hoped his tour would tend his comforts and his purse to mend. At length they to the house retreated, and round the supper soon were seated, when the time quickly passed away, and gay good humor closed the day.

15 15 - Canto 15 14:38

Canto XV Virtue embraces every state, and while it gilds the rich and great, It cheers their heart who humbly stray Along life's more sequestered way. While from beneath the portals proud Wealth oft relieves the suppliant crowd, The way-worn pilgrim smiles to share In lowly homes the welcome fair. In splendid halls and painted bowers Plenty may crown the festive hours, Yet still within the secret dell The hospitable virtues dwell, and in this isle so brave and fair kind charity is everywhere. Within the city's ample bound her stately piles are seen around, where every want and every pain that in man's feeble nature reign, where the sad air of pining grief may, bless'd be heaven, obtain relief.

While on the humble village green How oft the low-roofed pile is seen Where poverty forgets its woes And wearied age may find repose. Thrice happy Britons, While the car of furious unrelenting war Leaves the dire track of steaming gore On many a hapless distant shore. While a remorseless tyrant's hand deals misery through each foreign land, and fell destruction from the throne to him who doth the cottage own. Peace beams upon your sea-girt isle, while the bright virtues ever smile, where hostile shoutings ne'er molest the happy inmates genial rest. Where'er it is his lot to go, He will not meet an armd foe. Nay, wheresoever his way doth tend, he sure may chance to find a friend. Thus, having rose at early day, as through the fields he took his way, the doctor did his thoughts rehearse, and as the muse inspir'd in verse, for while with skill each form he drew, his reverence was a poet too.

But soon a bell's shrill, tinkling sound re-echoed all the meads around, and said, as plain as bell could say, Breakfast is ready. Come away. The welcome summons he obeyed, and found an arbor's pleasing shade, where, while the plenteous meal was spread, the woodbine flaunted o'er his head.

Ah, little do the proud and great Amid the pomp and toil of state, know of these simple real joys with which the bosom never cloys. Oh, what a heart-reviving treat I find within this rural seat! All that can please the quickened taste is offer'd in this fair repast. The flowers on their native bed are round delicious odours shed. A bloom that with the floweret vies On those fair cheeks attracts my eyes, And what sweet music greets my ear When that voice bids me welcome here! Indeed, such sense combines to bless The present hour with happiness. Thus syntax spoke, nor spoke in vain. The ladies felt the flattering strain. Nor could they do enough to please the doctor for his courtesies. All that you see, if that's a charm, is, sir, the produce of our farm.

The rolls are nice, our oven bakes em, those oat-cakes too, my sister makes em. The cream is rich, pray do not save it. The brindled cow you drew, sir, gave it. And here is some fresh-gathered fruit. I hope it will your palate suit. "'Tis country fare which you receive, but "'tis the best we have to give." "'Ooooh," said the squire, "'the doctor jokes with us poor harmless country folks. I wonder that with all his sense and such a tickling eloquence he has not turned an humble priest into a good fat dean at least." We know how soon a lady's ear will list the honey'd sound to hear. At the same time I'm free to say I think the men as vain as they. How happens it, my learned friend, that you have not attained your end?

That all your figures and your tropes have not fulfilled your rightful hopes? I should suppose your shining parts— And above all your flattering arts, would soon have turned your grisly mare into a handsome chaise and pear. I live amidst my native groves, and the calm scene my nature loves, but still I know and often see what gains are made by flattery. That may be true, the doctor said. But flattery is not my trade. Indeed, dear sir, you do me wrong. No sordid interest guides my tongue. Honour and virtue I admire, or in a bishop, or in a squire. But falsehood I most keenly hate, though guilt with wealth, or crowned with state. For truth, I'm like a lion bold. And a base lie I've never told. Indeed, I know too many a sinner will lie by dozens for a dinner.

But from the days of earliest youth I've worshipped as I've practised truth. Nay, many a stormy bitter strife I've had with my dear loving wife, who often said she might have seen her husband a fine pompous dean. Indeed she sometimes thinks her spouse might have a mitre on his brows, if putting scruples out of view he'd do as other people do. No, I will never lie nor fawn nor flatter to be robed in lawn. I too can boast a certain rule within the precepts of my school. Whatever faults I may pass by, I never can. Forgive a lie. I hate to use the birchen rod, but when a boy forswears his god, when he in purposed falsehood deals, my heavy strokes the culprit feels. Vice I detest whoever shows it, and when I see it I'll expose it.

But two kind hearts my homage due I sure will pay. And pay to you. Nor will you, sir, deny the share I owe to these two ladies fair. The squire replied, I e'en must yield, and leave you master of the field. These ladies will, I'm sure, agree that you have fairly conquer'd me. But be assured, all joke apart, I feel your doctrine from my heart. Your freeborn conduct I commend, and I shall rejoice to call you friend. Oh, how it would my spirits cheer if you were but the rector here! Our parson, I'm concerned to say, had rather drink and game than pray. He makes no bones do curse and swear, in any rout to take a share, and what's still worse he'll spring a hare. I wish his neck he would but break or tumble drunk into the lake, for know the living's mine to give, and you should soon the cure receive.

The benefice, I'm sure, is clear at least three hundred pounds a year. "'I thank you, sir, with all my heart,' said Syntax, "'but we now must part.' The fair ones cried. We beg you'll stay and pass with us another day. Ladies, I would twain my power, but I can't stay another hour. I feel your kindness to my soul and wish I could my fate control. Within ten days the time will come when I shall be expected home. Nor is this all, for, strange to say, I must take London in my way. Thus converse kind the moments cheered, till Grizzle at the gate appeared. "'Well,' said the squire, "'since you must go, our hearty wishes we bestow. And if your genius bids you take another journey to the lake, remember Worthy Hall, we pray, and come and make a longer stay.

Write to, and tell your distant friends—' With what success your journey ends? We do not mean it as a bribe, but to your work we must subscribe. The ladies, too, exclaimed, Repeat your visit to our northern seat. Poor Syntax knew not how to tell The gratitude he felt so well, And when at length he said good-bye, a tear was bright. In either eye. The doctor paced along the way till it grew nigh the close of day, when the fair town appeared in sight where he proposed to pass the night. And as he reached the destined inn the landlord, with officious grin, at once declared he had no bed where Syntax could repose his head. At least where such a reverend guest would think it fit to take his rest. A mane of cocks had fought that day, and all the gentry chose to stay.

"'Observe, my friend, I mind not cost,' said Syntax to his cringing host. "'But still at least I may be able to sleep with Grizzle in the stable, and many a doctor after all is proud to slumber in a stall. In short, I only want to sleep.' Where neither rogue nor knave can creep. I travel not with change of coats, and in these bags are all my notes, which, should I lose, would prove my ruin, and be for ever my undoing. Thus as he spoke a lively blade with dangling cue and smart cockade replied at once, I have a room. The friend I looked for is not come. And of two beds, where we may rest, you, my good sir, shall have the best. So you may sleep without alarm, no living wight shall do you harm, you may depend upon my word, I serve the king, and wear a sword.

Your officer I kindly greet, says Syntax, but you'll let me treat with what is best to drink and eat. And I request you will prepare to your own taste a bill of fare. The doctor and the captain sat, till tired of each other's chat. They both agreed it would be best to seek the balmy sweets of rest. Syntax soon closed his weary eye, nor thought of any danger nigh, while, like the ever watchful snake, his sharp companion lay awake. Impatient to assail his prey. When soon it was the break of day, he gently seized the fancied store. But as he passed the creaking door, Syntax awoke and saw the thief, when loudly bawling for relief, he forward rushed in naked state, and caught the culprit at the gate.

Against that gate his head he beat. Then kicked him headlong to the street. The ostler from his bed arose in time to hear and see the blows. Said Syntax, "'I'll not make a riot. I've saved my notes, and I'll be quiet. The rascal, if I'm not mistaken, will ask his legs to save his bacon. But what a figure I appear! I must not stand and shiver here. So take me back into the room.' From whence in this strange way I've come. The ostler then the doctor led To the warm comfort of his bed. Into that bed he quickly crept. Beneath his head his bags he kept, And on that pillow safely slept.

16 16 - Canto 16 15:11

CANTO 16 Fair virtue is its own reward, For heaven remains its constant guard, And it becomes us all to trust in this grand truth That heaven is just. Whatever forms the human lot, whether in palace or in cot, in the calm track or frequent strife, man leads his variegated life. Whether he feast his smiling hours in stately halls or painted bowers, whether he labours through the day in winter cold or summer's ray, or in long nights of torturing pain, He strives to close his eyes in vain. Comfort will his lot attend, if virtue be his bosom friend. In youth, when love's creative power Forms the young passion's roseate bower, When, life matured, the eager game That hunts for wealth or seeks for fame Is subtly played with various art To seize the mind and fill the heart, When pleasure doth its charms display, and sirens sing but to betray, If virtue's called, it will defy the attack of every enemy.

When age comes on with stealing pace, And the crutch marks the closing race, Virtue supports her champion's cause, And cheers him with her fond applause. Nay, e'en at death's resistless hour, she still displays her conscious power, nor fails to make the flowerets bloom round the dark confines of the tomb. Thus Syntax pondered, when, around, his head he turn'd and grateful found his bags and notes all safe and sound. Pleas'd with the prospect he was fain to yawn. And go to sleep again. But while he still enjoyed his dream, his story was the general theme of every tongue, and made a din through all the purlieus of the inn. The ostler told it to the maid, and she the whole and more betray'd. Nay, in her idle eager prate, mistook the window for the gate, for though she lay all snug and quiet, And slept unconscious of the riot, she swore that, all within her view, the parson from the window threw a full-grown man into the street, who happily lighted on his feet, and then ran off through all the dirt with nightcap on and half a shirt.

The barber caught the story next, who stuck no closer to the text. But left a face half-shaved, and ran to tell it to the clergyman. "'Oh, bless me, sir,' he cried. "'I fear to utter what you now must hear. At the blue bell there's been such doing, The house I'm certain it must ruin. Nay, as I live I tell no further. A bishop has committed merthyr.' He seized a captain by the pate, And dashed it so against the gate, That all the planks are covered o'er with scattered brains and human gore. His lordship gave him such a banging that he will scarce escape with hanging. They quarrelled, sir, as it was said, about the colours black and red. The captain manfully professed that the bright scarlet was the best, and they who that fine colour wore the first of all professions bore, while black It was not very civil, was known as livery of the devil.

Thus soon a loud dispute arose, from which hard words went on to blows, and ended in this bloody strife which robbed the captain of his life. And if fair justice does not falter, she'll deck the bishop with a halter. The parson smiled, and bid the calf go home And shaved the other half. But when he came the lathered elf had shaved the other half himself. The tailor laid aside his needle to hear the story from the beadle, who swore he had strange news to tell of what had happened at the bell. Would you believe it that last night a highwayman, a man of might, down in his bed a lawyer bound, And robbed him of a thousand pounds, then gagged him that he might not rouse the people sleeping in the house.

No, no," says Snipp, however strong, no gag will stop a lawyer's tongue. And after all the stolen Pelf is what I'm sure he stole himself. For if the real truth we knew, he's the worst villain of the two. They're thieves in grain. They never alter. Attorneys all deserve a halter. If that is all, I'll mind my stitches, nor lay aside John Bumpkin's breeches. The blacksmith, while a traveller stayed that a new horseshoe might be made, informed him that a reverend clerk last night was strangled in the dark. No one knew how. It was at the bell. The murderer not a soul could tell. The Justice, though, would make a rout and try to find the fellow out. Thus rumor spread the simple case in every form throughout the place.

The doctor now unclosed his eyes, and thought that it was time to rise. So up he got, and down he went to scold the landlord fully bent, who, pale and trembling with a fright at what had happened in the night, Approached with such an humble look, the doctor's rage at once forsook his Christian breast, and with a voice that did the poor man's heart rejoice, he bid him soon as he was able to let the coffee grace the table. "'I do aver,' the landlord said, "'that since I've carried on my trade, since I've been master of the bell, as all throughout the town can tell—' And that is now ten years or more, I ne'er knew such mishap before. The fellow, sir, upon my word, let loose his money like a lord.

I receive all who come this way, and care not, sir, how long they stay, so they but eat and drink and pay. I ask not from whence people come, what is their name, or where they are home. That he's a rogue I think is clear, nor e'er again shall enter here. He is some sharper, I suppose, who round about the country goes, while to assist his lawless game he takes the soldier's noble name. I understand the rogue you banged, and in good time, sir, he'll be hanged. I hope that all your notes were found. I'm told they're worth a thousand pounds." Prove that, said Syntax, my dear honey. And I will give you half the money. Think not, my friend, I'm such a fool that I have been so late at school to put my banknotes in a bag that hangs across my grizzle-nag.

No, they were notes to make a book. The thief my meaning, friend, mistook, for no, the man would not have found them worth to him a single pound. Though much I hope that they will be the source of many a pound to me. Thus Syntax cheered the landlord's heart, till the time warned him to depart, when soon, along the beaten road, poor Grizzle bore her reverend load. The doctor's pleasant thoughts beguile the journey onward many a mile, for many a mile he had not seen but one unvarying level green. Nor had the way one object brought that wakened picturesque thought. A spire, indeed, across the down seemed to denote a neighbouring town, and that he viewed with some delight, for there he hoped to pass the night.

A farmer now, so blithe and gay, came trotting briskly on his way. "'Will you,' says Syntax, "'tell me, friend?' If to yon town this way doth tend. This way, good sir, will take you there. You're surely going to the fair. Tis the first mart, both far and near, For horses, cows, and suchlike gear. And from the beast I've in my eye You're going, sir, a nag to buy. I think, if I the truth may tell, You have not got a nag to sell. For not a person in the fair would give ten shillings for your mare. Syntax, who dearly loved a joke, and long had lived among country folk, thought he would work a little mirth out of this rustic sun of earth. And thus the conversation flowed as they jogged on the beaten road.

Believe me, farmer, long together in sunshine and stormy weather My mare and I have throtted on, Nor is yet our labour done, And though her figure you despise, Did you but know her qualities, You would not rate her quite so low As now you seem disposed to do.

I'll lay a pound if you are willing, She does not fetch you twenty shilling.

First, my good friend— One truth I'll tell, I do not want my mare to sell. While to lay wages I am loath, the practice would disgrace my cloth, nor ever, while life's path I trace, will I my sacred rank disgrace. But yet I think you underrate poor Grizzle's qualities and state. "'Tis true she's past the age of beauty, yet still the old girl does her duty." And someone surely will be found to think at least she's worth a pound. Nay, to amuse the country folk, we'll put her up by way of joke, and no one must the wager smoke. And I propose that if you lose—no Christian will the bet refuse—the money to the poor you'll give. "'Twill be a Christian donative." And if my old and faithful mayor should so be treated in the fair, That not a person would be willing to offer for her twenty shilling, on honour I will do the same, as sure as syntax is my name.

Such are the terms that I propose, so let us now the bargain close. "'Give me your hand,' the farmer said. "'The terms I'll keep, the bargain's made.' Thus they rode on and reached the town. The pipe and bowl, THE EVENING CROWN The morrow came, and through the fair the farmer led the grizzle mare. Said one, I would not bid a pound, she's only fit to feed a hound. But would a hound the gift receive? For she has naught but bones to give. Where must we look her ears to find, and faith she left her tail behind? Why, says another. View her scars. She must have left them in the wars. As a warm yeoman passed along, he heard the jeerings of the throng, and felt a strong desire to know what pleased the laughing people so.

A parson, sir, said one, distressed, would sell that poor, that wretched beast, and asks, I hear, a pound or two. I think he'll ne'er get that from you. "'If that's the case,' the yeoman said, "'I'll ease his heart and buy the jade. I'll bid two pounds, my friend, that's plain, and give him back his beast again.' The farmer owned the wager lost, and oped his bag to pay the cost. "'No, sir,' says Syntax, "'tis to you to pay whate'er you think it due. But as we pass the common oar—' I saw beside a cottage door a woman with a spinning-wheel, who turned her thread around the reel, while joyfully frolicked by her side three children, all in nature's pride. And I resign it to your care to leave the welcome bounty there.

The yeoman, when he heard the joke, in friendly words to syntax spoke. "'Aye, sir, an humble mansion own.' About five furlongs from the town, and there your reverence I invite to go and dine and pass the night. Today I give an annual feast, where you will be a welcome guest. I love the cloth, and humbly crave that we may there your blessing have. Come then, and bring your mare along. Come, share the feast, and hear the song. And in the evening will be seen the merry dancers on the green. "'With joy,' says Syntax, "'I receive the invitation which you give. In your kind feast I'll bear part, and bring with me a grateful heart.' "'Aye,' said the yeoman, "'must be gone, but shall expect you, sir, at one.' Nor did the doctor long delay to the farmhouse he took his way, and change the bustle of the fair for a kind noiseless welcome there.

17 17 - Canto 17 16:04

Ye courtesies of life, all hail! Whether along the peaceful vale, Where the thatched cot alone is seen, The humble mansion of the green, Or, in the city's crowded way, man, mortal man, is doomed to stray. You give to joy an added charm, and woe of half its pangs disarm. How much in every state he owes, to what kind courtesy bestows? To that benign engaging art which decorates the human heart. And free from jealousy and strife, gilds all the charities of life. To every act it gives a grace. It adds a smile to every face, and goodness itself we better see when dressed by gentle courtesy. Thus Syntax, as the house he sought, indulged the grateful, pleasing thought. And soon he stepped the threshold oar where the good farmer went before.

Plenty appeared, and many a guest attended on the welcome feast. The doctor then, with solemn face, proceeded to the appointed place, and in due form pronounced the grace. That thankful ceremony done The fierce attack was soon begun, while meat and pudding, fowl and fish, all vanished from each ample dish. The dinner o'er, the bowl appeared, the enlivening draughts, the spirits cheered. Nor did the pleasant doctor fail between the cups of foaming ale to gain the laugh by many a tale. Had it so happed among the rest? The farmer's landlord was a guest. A buckish blade who kept a horse to try his fortune on the course, was famous for his fighting-cocks and his staunch pack to chase the fox. Indeed, could he a booby-bite, he'd play at cards throughout the night.

Nor was he without hopes to get syntax to make some silly bet. "'I never bet,' the doctor said, while a deep frown his thoughts betrayed. "'Your gold I do not wish to gain, and mine shall in my purse remain. No tempting card, no gambling art, shall make it from my pocket start. Gaming, my worthy sir, I hate. It neither suits my means nor state.' "'Tis the worst passion, I protest, that's known to haunt the human breast. Of all vile habitudes the worst, the most delusive and accursed. And if you please I'll lay before ye a very melancholy story, such as I think will wring your heart and wound you in the tenderest part." That will in striking colors show the biting pangs the bitter woe that do too oft from gaming flow.

Nay, said the squire, I don't deny. I often like my luck to try. And no one here, I am sure, will say that when I lose I do not pay. But as you think it such a sin, pray try to cure me, and begin.

How many of the human kind who to their common honour blind Look not in any path stray, but where fell passion leads the way? Who, born to every real claim To wear the fairest wreath of fame, Reject the good by nature given, and scoff at every boon of heaven? Yes, such there are, and such we find, At every point that gives the wind. And when among the crowd we see one whom in prodigality fortune and nature had combined to fill his purse and form his mind, whose manly strength is graced with ease and has the happy power to please, whose cooler moments never heard the frantic vow to heaven preferr'd, and yet whose steps repentance bears The vase of purifying tears. When such a victim we behold, Urged by the rampant lust of gold, Yielding his health, his life, his fame, As offerings to the god of game, The tear grows big in virtue's eye, Pale reason heaves the poignant sigh, The guardian spirit turns away.

And Hell enjoys a holiday. Is there on earth a hellish vice? There is, my friend. Tis Avarice. Has Avarice a more hellish name? It has, my friend, the lust of game. All this perhaps you'll thus deny. There's no one with more grace than I let shillings drop and guineas fly. To the dejected hapless friend. My door I ope, my purse I lend. To purchase joy my wealth I give, and like a man of fashion live. This may be true, but still your breast is with the love of gold possess'd. Why watch whole nights the fatal card, or look to dice for your reward? Why risk your real wealth with those whom you know not, and no one knows? With maggots whom foul fortune's ray Has raised from dunghills in to-day, Who would in your misfortune riot, And seek your ruin for their diet.

Pleasure it cannot be, for pains Will mingle with your very gains, Will hover round the golden store Which'er the passing moments o'er. May horrid chance be yours. No more. And yet you cannot use the plea of beggar'd men, necessity. Plenty as yet adorns your board, and innumerous vassals own you, lord. Your woods look fair, their trunks increase, the hammer'd riads live in peace, but cards and dice more powerful far than e'en the sharpest axes are. And one dire stroke have oft been found to level forests with the ground, have seized the mansion's lofty state, and turned its master from the gate. A youth in wealth and fashion bred, but by the love of gaming led, soon found that ample wealth decay, farm after farm was played away, till the sad history to complete his park His lawns, his ancient seat, were all in haste and hurry sold to raise the heaps of ready gold.

They, like the rest, soon pass'd away, the villain's gain, the sharper's prey, while he, alas, resolv'd to shun the arts by which he was undone, sought by hard labour to sustain. His weary life of woe and pain. But nature soon refused to give the strength by which he strove to live, And naught was left him to but try What casual pity would supply. To stray where chance or hunger led, And humbly ask for scanty bread. One day to his despairing eyes He saw a stately mansion rise. Nor looked he long before he knew Each wood and copse that round it grew, For all the scene that seemed so fair Once knew in his a master's care. Struck with the sight and sore oppress'd, He sought a bank whereon to rest.

There long he lay and sigh'd his grief. Tears came, but did not bring relief. At last he took his tottering way, where once he loved so well to stray, and, pressed by hunger, sought the gate, where suppliant want was used to wait, where suppliant want was ne'er denied the morsel left by glutted pride. But ah! these generous times were o'er, and suppliant want relieved no more. The mastiff growl'd, the liveried thief with insolence denied relief. The wretch, dissolving in a groan, turn'd from the portal once his own. But ere he turn'd he told his name, and cursed once more the love of game. Then sought the lawn, for nature fail'd, and sorrow o'er his strength reveal'd. Beneath an oak's wide-spreading shade, his weary limbs he careless laid.

Then call'd on heaven, the bitter prayer of misery finds remittance there, and ere the sun with parting ray had hearken'd the last blush of day, sad and worn out with want and grief, he found in death a kind relief. The oak records the doleful tale, which makes the conscious reader pale, and tells, In this man's fate behold the love of play, the lust of gold. No moral, sir, I shall impart. I trust you feel it in your heart. You're young, you'll say, and must engage in the amusements of the age. Go then, and let your mountain bear the forest's verdant livery ware. Let Parian marble grace your hall, and Titian glow upon your wall. Its narrow channels boldly break, and swell your rivulet to a lake.

To richer harvests bend your soil, while labor fattens in the toil. Encourage nature, and impart the half-transparent veil of Art. Let music charm your melting breast, and soothe each passion into rest. Let genius from your hand receive the bounty that can make it live, and call the muses from on high to give you immortality. To these hardy pleasures join, where exercise and health combine, at the first opening of the morn, o'er hill and dale with hound and horn. Boldly pursue the subtle prey, and share the triumphs of the day. Nor yet the evening hours roll unaided by the social bowl. Nor should fair friendship be away, but crown with smiles the festive day. Say, need I add the joys they prove, who live in bounds of virtuous love, where fond affection fills the heart?

The baser passions shall depart. While the babe hangs on beauty's breast, while in a parent's arms caress, each lowbred thought, all vicious aims, the pure domestic mind disclaims. Virtue inspires his every sense, who looks on cherub innocence. Then seek a shield against passion's strife. In the calm joys of wedded life. This is to live and to enjoy those pleasures which our pains destroy. This is to live and to receive the praises which the good will give. This is to make that use of wealth which heightens e'en the flush of health, improves the heart, and gives acclaim to a fair, fragrant wealth of fame. "'Ay, thank you, sir,' the farmer said. "'Tis a sad tale you have displayed, How I the poor man's lot deplore.

The more I think, I feel the more, And much I wish my landlord too Would keep his wretched face in view. But while my poor good woman weeps, Behold how very sound he sleeps. I beg that we may change the scene And join the dancers on the green.' Sal now exclaim'd, The people say Ralph is so drunk he cannot play. Then I'll be fiddler, Syntax cried, By me his place shall be supplied. Ne'er fear, my lasses, You shall soon be ambling to some pretty tune, In a measur'd time shall beat The green sod with your nimble feet, While virtue o'er the pleasure reigns. You're welcome to my merry strains. While virtue smiles upon your joy, I'll gladly my best skill employ. For sure, "'t'will give me great delight to be your fiddler through the night.

I know full well I do not err from any point of character. To heaven I cannot give offence when I enliven innocence. For thus to virtuous man tis given to dance and sing. And go to heaven. Your merry minstrel see prolong, And to your dances add the song. E'en while you caper, Loudly sing in honour of your noble king. Chorus of Peasants Strike, strike the lyre, Awake the sounding shell! How happy we who in these valleys dwell! How blest we live beneath his gentle sway! Whom mighty realms and distant seas obey, Make him, propitious heaven, your choicest care. O make him happy as his people are. T'was thus they fiddled, danced, and sung, With harmless glee the village wrung. At length dull midnight bid them close A day of joy with calm repose.

End of Canto 17

18 18 - Canto 18 12:30

Who hourly prove themselves its slaves, however fashion gilds the dress, attain the expected happiness. How seldom is to greatness known that pure and unembittered lot, which often cheers the peasant's cot. Let grandeur blush, and blushing own, the hallowed bliss, the nameless charm, that decorates the fertile farm. Thus Syntax pondered as his eye surveyed the cheerful family who round the breakfast-table seated, with one accord his entrance greeted. At the same time they all expressed much sorrow that their reverend guest had ordered Grizzle to the door in order to pursue his tour. Burst from the yeoman's friendly heart, yet hope whene'er you this way come you'll not forget this is your home.

You see how we poor farmers live, a welcomes all we have to give. But that's sincere, so come and try. A few kind words were the reply. Syntax once more his beast bestrode, he bade farewell, and off he rode. Now nature's beauties caught his eye, arrayed in gay simplicity, and as he passed the road along the blackbird's note, the thrush's song, with musical and native mirth, seemed to do homage to his worth. The varied landscape here combined to fascinate the eye and mind, to charm the gazer's every sense from the commanding eminence. The expanding plain with plenty crown'd diffuses health and fragrance round, while on a lofty craggy height a castle rises to the sight which, in its day of strength and pride, the arms of threatening foes defied.

Beneath the moldering abode, in mazy course, a rivulet flow'd, and free from the tempestuous gale its silent stream Refresh'd the veil. The veil the scatter'd hamlet cheer'd, and many a straw-roofed cot appear'd, while smiling groups at every door spoke grief a stranger to the poor. With pious thought and eye serene Syntax survey'd the enchanting scene, and thus in grateful mood began, So deals the omnipotent with man. Such are thy gifts, all gracious power, to us the creatures of an hour. And yet how oft we barter these, and oft we risk our health and ease. Thy best bequest, thy choicest treasure, for follies which we misname pleasure. And slaves to vanity and art check the best feelings of the heart.

How the scene charms the ravish'd eye, I cannot, will not pass it by," he said, and from his pocket took his pencil and his sketching-book, while Grizzle, in contented mood, clos'd by her busy master stood. When clouds of dust proclaim'd the approach of something Syntax deem'd a coach. Four wheels, in truth, it had to boast, Although what it resembled most were hard to say. Suffice, this tub was built in London where a club, Eclept Fourhorse is now the rage, and famed for whims in equipage. Dashers who once a month assemble make creditors and coachmen tremble, And, dressed in colors vastly fine, drive to some public-house to dine. There game and drink and swear, and then drive in disorder back again.

Now Syntax, with some kind of fear, beheld the vehicle draw near, and, like her master, Grizzle, too, was far from happy at the view, for a long whip had caught her eye, moving about most rapidly, though little thought the hapless nag. The joke which the exalted wag, who held the reins with skilful hand, against both mayor and master planned. But now the curious doctor spied the emblem of patrician pride, which on the panels of the coach proclaimed a noble lord's approach. Nay, as the facts will plainly prove it, it was a noble lord who drove it. For tis well known to men of rank that lords will sometimes play a prank, and thus indulge themselves in jokes as low as those of vulgar folks. But tis not easy to express the wild surprise, the deep distress which Syntax felt when this same lord aim'd at his back the flaunting chord, and when the whip, with skilful turn, was ill-applied to Grizzle's stern, That stern, enough to make one shudder, which we all know had lost its rudder, her rage appeared in either eye, and then she neighed indignantly, which seemed she as when erst she bore a trumpeter to fields of gore, when in the battle's heat at large she led whole squadrons to the charge.

Thus, Syntax, as she scowred the plain, indulge the moralizing strain. Can I in this foul conduct scan the peer, a well-bred gentleman? Or rather must not virtue frown on such a high-born titled clown? Thus then do nobles play the fool? A conduct which at my poor school, if mong my boys it dare appear, if they should ape that monkey there, they for their fun should pay full dearly, I'd whip the blackguards most severely. But I'll not waste another word upon this vulgar booby lord, for I have something else to do. And, Grizzle, what's become of you? A farmer's well-stored barn hard by, Attracted her observing eye, where many a trough of fragrant hay induced the prudent beast to stay. Meanwhile her discontented master, reflecting on the late disaster, paced slowly on, brimful of care, and wondered who had got his mare.

Indeed he feared she might be found within the precincts of a pound. But soon his quadruped he saw. Up to her girths in hay and straw. While he who owned the neighboring farm prepared to raise his weighty arm, and having just observed the theft, brandished a horsewhip right and left—alas, it cannot be denied—to lay about on Grizzle's hide. Syntax beheld the harsh intent. "'Forbear!' he cried the punishment. "'Why make her feel the chastising thong?' She knows not she is doing wrong? Forgive my warmth, but truly, sir, this suits not with the character of one who treads the British ground, a land for justice so renowned. I'll pay for all the straw that's wasted and all the hay that she has tasted.

Your courtesy I now invoke, so name the cost and spare the stroke. The farmer paused, as by a charm. and dropp'd at once the uplifted arm. "'Forgive me, sir, for what?' he cried. "'Cannot indeed be justified. But for my haste I'll make amends. So let us now, good sir, be friends. That is my house. You'll enter there, and, Thomas, take the doctor's mare. Come, reverence, sir, I'll lead the way.' The doctor did not disobey, and soon was met with welcome glee. By all the farmer's family. At length some business of the day summoned the honest host away, so Syntax thought he'd look about to find some curious object out. When, lo, a dairy met his view, where, full of cream in order due, the pans, the bowls, the jugs were placed, which tempted the divine to taste.

But he found something better there, a village damsel young and fair. Attracted his admiring eye, who, as he entered, heaved a sigh. Now Syntax, as we all must know, ne'er heard a sigh or tale of woe, but instant wish'd to bring relief, to dry the tear and soothe the grief. "'Come here, sweet girl,' he softly said, "'tell me your cares. Be not afraid.' Come here, and seat you by my side. You're finding me a friendly guide. Relate your sorrows, tell the truth. What is it? Does some perjured youth, unfaithful to his promise, prove, nor make the fond returns of love? "'Tis so, I see. But raise your eye on me, my pretty girl. Reply. You have my tender sympathy. Again I say, your grief in part." You've gained an interest in my heart, for well I know the pangs they prove who grieve for unrequited love.

The listening mother, who had heard love talked of, kindled at the word, and rushing in expressed her rage. For shame, for shame, while hoary age whitens your head I see your eyes beaming with iniquity. Begone, you old, you wanton goat! Your heart is black as is your coat. A parson, too, may heaven forgive the wicked age in which we live. I'll go and tell my honest spouse the snake he harbours in his house. He'll give such hypocrites their due, I'll warrant it. And off she flew. The host arrived, but by that time the false alarm, the imputed crime— Nancy had ventured to unfold, and Mother now had ceased to scold. While the rude anger turned to mirth, they all confessed the Doctor's worth. The Doctor was soon upon the table, and Grizzle feeding in the stable, while Joyful Syntax once again forgot past accidents and pain.

And when night came— Reposed his head in peace upon the welcome bed. But ne'er did he to sleep consign his weary limbs, Till to the shrine of heaven he had addressed the prayer Whichever finds admittance there.

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Hail the bright orb! The doctor cried, that makes the distant mountains glow, and clears the misty vales below. O, let me bless the power divine that bade its splendid fires to shine, invigorating warmth to give to all that grow and all that live, which in the bowels of the earth brings the rich metal into birth. Or piercing through the secret mine makes rubies blush and diamonds shine. While man, the first, the head of all, that breathes upon this earthly ball, as freely feels its force as they of insect tribe who in its ray pass their short hour and pass away. Oh, what a picture greets my sight! How my heart revels in delight, while I behold the advancing day, o'er the wide scene its power display.

While as I gaze the enchanted eye drinks in the rich variety. How the gleam brightens yonder tower, how deep the shade within the bower. The spreading oak and elm between, how fine those blushes intervene. Those brilliant lights, they would demand Claude's pencil or a Titian's hand. E'en while the distant hills I view, their orient colors change to blue. The stream within whose silver wave poets might see the Nyad's lave, now lost in shade, no more is seen to flow among the alders green. But let the eye its course pursue, again it brightens in the view, reflecting as its current flows each flower that on the margin blows. Hail, favoured casement, where the sight is courted to enjoy delight, to ascend the hill and trace the plain, where lavish nature's proud to reign.

Unlike those pictures that impart the windows of Palladian art, from whence no other object seen but gravel walk or shaven green, planned by the artist on his desk, pictures that are not picturesque. But I should not pursue my duty, did I relish all this beauty, nor snatch from this expansive view some pretty little scene or two. The cot that's all be-whiten'd o'er, with children playing at the door, a peasant hanging o'er the hatch, and the vine mantling on the thatch, while the thick coppice down the hill throws its green umbrage o'er the rill, whose stream drives on the busy mill. In pleasing group their forms combine, and suit a pencil such as mine. Nor shall I miss the branchy screen of those fine elms that hide the green, or which the tapering spire is seen.

I'll add no more, for to my mind are the scenes complete and well design'd. There are, indeed, who would insert those pigs which wallow in the dirt, and though I hold a pig is good upon a dish prepared for food, I do not fear to say the brute does not to my taste in painting suit. For I must solemnly aver that he from genuine taste must err, who flouts at grace or character, and there's as much in my old wig as can be found about a pig. For, to say truth, I don't inherit this selfsame picturesquish spirit. That looks to naught but what is rough, and ne'er thinks nature coarse enough. Their system does my genius shock, who see such graces in a dock, whose eye the picturesque admires in straggling brambles and in briars.

Nay, can a real beauty see in a decayed and rotten tree? I hate with them the trim of art, but from this rule I'll ne'er depart, in grandamn nature's vast collection, to make a fair and fit selection, which, when in happy contrast, joins, delights the inform'd, well-judging mind. But lo! the farmer at the gate proclaim'd aloud the hour of eight, and syntax now in haste descends. to join his kind, expecting friends. "'Well,' said his host, "'another day I trust your reverence will stay.' "'Why, thank you for the offer made.' "'But that can't be,' the doctor said. "'I have a wearied way to go, and much to see, and more to know. Indeed, so far I've got to roam, a fortnight's guests will take me home.

And, thanking you for all your care—' I must beg leave to seek my mare. Grizzle was quickly to be found, and as the good folk stood around, Syntax thought proper to discourse upon the virtues of his horse. Nor did he fail at large to tell that she had served him passing well, while he forgot not to bewail her loss of ears and loss of tail. For though among the passing folk his beast created many a joke, And though the foul and sad disaster oft forced a laugh against the master, they should not part while he was able to keep himself and keeper stable. Nay, to the last he'd cut and carve, that his poor grizzle might not starve. Thus, as his history he recounted, into the saddle up he mounted, and there for some time having sat he closed at length his farewell chat.

He thought it best to avoid caressing, so gave no kiss, but gave his blessing. On home, on book, on fame intent, the doctor pondered as he went. At night he looked his papers o'er and added to the learned store. But the next morn another scene, the vast expanse of liquid green the ocean's self broke on his eye. An inexpressive majesty. There, as he looked, full many a sail gave its white canvas to the gale, and many a freighted vessel bore its treasure to the British shore. When, as he traced the winding coast, in praise and admiration lost, uprising in the distant view, half seen through the ethereal blue, a city's stately form appeared. Upon the shore the mass was rear'd with glistening spires, while below masts like a forest seem to grow.

"'Twas Liverpool, that splendid mart, Imperial London's counterpart, where wandering Mersey's rapid streams rival the honours of the Thames, and bear on each returning tide whate'er by commerce is supplied." What'er the winds can hurry o'er from every climb and distant shore. Thus Syntax paced along the strand, through this fine scene of sea and land. But nearer now the town appears, the hum of men salutes his ears, and soon, amid the noisy din, he found the comforts of an inn. He ate, he drank, his pipe he smoked, and with the landlord Quaintly joked, but ere he slept he passed an hour by ending something to his tour, then sought his couch in hopes the morn would with new thoughts the page adorn.

The morning came, he sallied out to breathe the air and look about, where'er he turned his every sense grasped one vast scene of opulence. In all he saw there was display'd the proud magnificence of trade. Syntax and humble scholar bred, with naught but learning in his head, profound indeed in classic art, and goodness reigning in his heart, yet forty pounds a year was all he could his fix'd revenue call, for which on every sabbath day he went eight miles to preach and pray. His school, too, brought little gains, and scarce repay'd him for his pains. It gave, tis true, to drink and eat. It furnish'd him with bread and meat, and kept the wolf without the door, but syntax still was very poor. His wife, indeed, had got the art to keep herself a little smart, yet he, good man, was always seen with scanty coat and figure mean.

Though still he never threw aside the pedant's air, the pedant's pride, thus through the streets of this rich place he strutted with his usual grace, and thus he walked about the town as if its wealth had been his own. But of his wealth he could not vapour. Twelve guineas and a piece of paper, the present of a noble lord, was all his pockets could afford. Though still the lining of his coat secreted Squire Hearty's note, and now he thought twould not be rash to turn the paper into cash. Thus at his breakfast while he sat, and social joined the common chat, he took occasion to inquire who would comply with his desire, who would his anxious wish fulfil, and give him money for his bill. An arch-young sprig.

A banker's clerk resolved to hoax the reverend Spark, and counselled him to take a range among the merchants on the change. Someone perhaps will want to send a payment to a London friend. He'll in your wishes gladly join, and take the draught and pay the coin. The barber now the doctor sheared, and soon whipped off his three days' beard. His wig, which had not felt a comb not once since he had quitted home, was destined now with frizz and whirl to be tormented into curl. His coat, which long had tamed the rust, was soon deprived of all its dust. His gaiters, too, were fresh-chapann'd. Such were the doctor's stern command. And now, with spirits fresh and gay, To the exchange he took his way, to try in this commercial town a little commerce of his own.

The exchange soon met his wandering sight. The structure filled him with delight. Such are the fruits of trading knowledge. Learning, he cried, builds no such college. Indeed I entertain a notion, I speak the thought with true devotion. Though we in holy scripture read that Tyre and Sidon did exceed in wealth the cities of the world, where their ships their wandering sails unfurl'd, that e'en her merchants bore the bell in eating and in drinking well, were richer than the lordly great, and vied with princes in their state. Yet with all their pow'r and rule I think that they ne'er went to school in such a change as Liverpool. He entered now and heard within the crowded mart a buzzing din, a sound confused, the serenade of ardent gain and busy trade.

At length his penetrating eye was thrown about him to descry some one in whose sleek smiling face he could the lines of kindness trace. And soon a person he address'd, whose paunch projected from his breast, who, looking with good humour fraught, appear'd the very man he sought, when, with an unassuming grace, to him he thus disclosed the case, "'You will this paper, sir, peruse, and then perhaps you'll not refuse the favour which I ask to grant, and give the money that I want. The draft is good, and on my word.' It was a present from a lord.

That may be true, but lords, I fear, will meet but little credit here. Tis a fair draught upon the view. Yes, he's a lord. But who are you?

Look, and on an honest man you'll see a doctor in divinity, whose words his bond, and ne'er was known to do a deed he would not own.

I've naught to say, all this may be, but have you no security? Pray, doctor, can't you find a friend to answer for what you pretend? No, I have none. I am not known within the precincts of this town. And do you come to Liverpool to find a poor good-natured fool? With all your learning and your worth— Pray have you travelled so far north to think we have so little wit as by such biters to be bit? To learning we make no pretence, but, Doctor, we have common sense. For learned men we do not seek, and if I may with freedom speak, I take you for a very Greek. To know the Greek I do profess, tis my delight and happiness. And Homer's page I oft have read, Threw the long night with aching head While my wife wanted me in bed.

Then go to Homer, if you will, And see if he'll discount your bill. But the clock strikes. Good-bye, old sinner. Tis time for me to go to dinner. "'You want the monies?" said another, a bearded Israelitish brother. "'Tis a suspected bill, I find." But you look poor, and I am kind. Well, we must take the chance of trade. For twenty pounds the draught is made. It is too much, as I am alive. But give it me, and here, take five." "'Patient, good heaven!' the doctor said. "'Is this the boast and pride of trade? Each man they do not know to treat is an incorrigible cheat?' And when does he his want prefer to play the base extortioner? Commerce I envy not thy gains, thy hard-earned wealth, thy golden pains.

For that's hard-earned, though gain'd with ease where honor's sacred functions cease. The dangers which thy votaries run, or to undo, or be undone, whose hungry moors are daily bent. On the fine feast of cent-percent, whose virtue, talents, knowledge, health, are all combined in that word, wealth. "'Tis a proud scene of money'd strife forms this magnificence of life, but poor and rich, with all they have, will find at length a common grave. Continue, bounteous heaven to me, a feeling heart and poverty." These whites despise me, cause I'm poor, and yet the wretched seek my door. I fear no duns, I'm not in debt, I tremble not at the Gazette. "'T'would to my profit be and fame, did but its page display my name, and those proud merchants say the same?"

More he had said, but now his bell the beadle rang aloud to tell thee good folks should vanish straight. As he must shut the ponderous gate. But Syntax did not seem to hear, so the man rang it in his ear. Syntax. I pray, my friend, what's all this rout with your fierce bell? Beedle. To ring you out. Syntax. I've been used to hear the din of bells that always rang me in. Beedle. All I've to say for you to know, I'll shut the gate if you don't go. I sure shall leave you in the lurch. For now, good sir, you're not at church. SYNTAX Indeed, my friend, you speak most true. I know all that as well as you. This is no temple, for tis clear I find no money-changers here. Nor will I say my mind conceives.

It may be called a den of thieves. However, I'll quit these sons of Perlf, and keep my paper to myself. They shall no more at Syntax scoff. Grizzle and I will soon be off. Thanks to my stars I've got enough of that same yellow useful stuff, as will my every want befriend, and bear me to my journey's end. Arrived in town my noble lord will welcome me to bed and board. When it will make his lordship sport as I these trading tricks report, how near I was to being cheated, and how his ancient name was treated.

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in coat of blue and corded vest. And seemed superior to the rest. His small clothes sat so close and tight, his boots, like jet, were black and bright, while the glitz spur, well armed with steel, was seen to shine on either heel, loaded with seals, and all bespangled, a watch-chain from his pocket dangled, a hat his smiling face o'erspread, and almost hid his well-cropped head. He swung his whip about to greet his friends who hurried through the street, when, as he passed, all big with rage, syntax appeared upon the stage, and still continued talking loud for the amusement of the crowd. The well-dressed man now stopped to know what worked the angry doctor so, and in a pleasant, friendly way demanded where his grievance lay.

When, Syntax bowing, on they walk'd, and thus the social strangers talk'd. Syntax. These strangers, sir, I can't admire. You, I presume, sir, are a squire. Mr. I have, and here they're passed an oath, to say the truth a slice of both, and now you have within your view a trader and a squire too. Here I can some importance claim, and hm-hm is my well-known name. Nay, there are few within this town of more substantial renown. My house of trade is in this street, a few miles off my country seat, where I most frequently reside, mid all the charms of rural pride. And I'll be hm-hm if e'er you see a lord Who better lives than me?

Why, fie, good sir, I cannot bear to hear a fellow-Christian swear. You must well know such profanation is a foul trick in every station, and will draw down a celestial ire on a trader or a squire. Nay, tis the duty of my cloth, whene'er I hear, to check an oath. I'm a poor parson, very poor. I keep a school and hold a cure, but when I'm in the parish church, or when at home I will the birch, I know the dignities that wait upon the power of either state. I keep them always in my view, I, sir, and I maintain them too. Nay, in your change, where riches reign, I did that dignity maintain. In that proud place where, I am told, There sometimes pour down showers of gold, but not like that we read of Jove, for that, you know, was pour'd for love.

And nothing like it did I see, no love nor e'en civility. I only ask'd a common grace, when the man mock'd me to my face. Had I an arrant swindler been, he could not with more scornful mien have my polite proposal greeted. Indeed, I was most foully treated, and by a dolt was made a joke among the rude surrounding folk. Thus was I worked into a stew by Turk, by Gentile, and by Jew. How blessed am I to meet with you, for, no, sir, I have the art to scan the well-bred finished gentleman, and therefore I shall lay before you some items of my honest story. The object of the tour I make is chiefly for the prophet's sake. At the same time I trust my name may find some literary fame. You, if you please, may take a look at what I finished of my book.

A noble peer doth condescend to be my patron and my friend. I saw him late in York's fair country, and was the object of his bounty. This draught, with most becoming grace, the smile of goodness in his face, he soft convey'd unto my touch. He said, indeed, it was not much, but could I visit him in town, he'd make his further friendship known. And here, alas, I was so rash to try to get it changed for cash, for which myself and this great peer of these rude rafts became the jeer. Permit me, sir, to show the paper that made these purse-proud tradesmen vapor. To its full value your accord. Perhaps, sir, you may know, my lord. Mr. I know him well. Tis his handwriting. It is his lordship's own indicting.

I'll give the coin. Why, blood and ounds! I wish twere four five hundred pounds. He is a lord of great discerning. His friendship proves your store of learning. He is not more known for ancient birth than for the charm of private worth, for all that elegance and grace which decorate a noble race. Come here with me, and you shall find at least one trader to your mind." Syntax now smoothed his angry look, and straight prepared to show his book. In a fine room he soon was seated, with all attention he was treated, and while they at their luncheon sat ten minutes passed in friendly chat. At length the business was arranged, the deed was done, the draught was changed, and as the doctor placed his note in a small pouch within his coat, "'There,' said the squire, "'there's another.

I've matched it with its very brother.'" The Bank of England is their mother, and when they're offered to her eye she'll own them as her progeny. So tell my lord that I for one am proud to do as he has done. Nor is this all, my learned friend. Here our acquaintance must not end. My Phaeton and servants wait, all in due order at the gate. So you shall go along and see my rural hospitality. For a few days we will contrive to keep our spirits all alive. I'll send a groom to fetch your mare. So laugh at thought and banish care. Thus off they went, and four in hand, dashed briskly toward the promised land. Syntax first told his simple story, and then the squire detailed his glory. Mr. Now we're away in chaise and fore, I am a merchant, sir, no more.

At least whene'er I thus retire, to flourish as a country squire, and you will see how I prepare an opiate for mercantile care. In learned labours some proceed, but I prefer the racing steed. Some to ambitious heights ascend. I to the racing course attend. In study I ne'er wander far. Mine is the racing calendar. While with keen eye the herald see the long-trac'd line of ancestry, Give me a horse's pedigree. Others some powerful station boast, But let me gain the winning post. It may be sweet with babes to play, But I prefer the fillies' neigh. You talk of men of wit and parts, of the deep sciences and arts. Give me the science that will teach the knowing one to overreach. And as for pictures and such things which taste from foreign countries brings, a broodmare in maternal pride, with a colt trotting by her side, is to my eye more pleasing far than hero in triumphant car.

Or Seaborne Venus, weeping o'er Adonis, wounded by a boar. These points, good sir, I can't discuss. I know no steed but Pegasus.

Cut off his wings! I've got a horse shall run him o'er the beacon course. And though Apollo should bestride him, I'll back my horse, for I will ride him. Thus, as he spoke, a row of trees, which a full age has felt the breeze, and half that time at least has made a long cathedral aisle of shade, appeared in view, and marked the road which led to this brave squire's abode, whose stately chambers soon possessed the doctor as a welcome guest. The dinner came, a sumptuous treat. Nor did the parson fail to eat in the same way he used to do as much as any other two. The cakes he munched, the wine he quaffed, his tale he told, the ladies laughed, and thus the merry moments pass'd till cap and slippers came at last.

At length his balmy slumbers o'er, morn smiled as it had smiled before. And as without our cares or pain it will not fail to smile again, when Syntax, having proved as able at breakfast as at dinner-table, Begg leave'd with due respect to say he must pursue his ancient way. "'Well,' said the squire, "'before you go, I shall my stud of racers show.' So off they went from stall to stall. He showed the steeds, and named them all, described their beauty and their birth, their well-earned fame and golden worth, the various feats they had all done, with plates which they had lost and won. At length the astonished squire saw poor Grizzle to her girths in straw. "'That, sir,' said Syntax, "'is my steed, but though I can't detail her breed, I sure can tell what she has won, those scars by Frenchman's sabre done.

I cannot brag what she has cost, but you may see what she has lost. Where, said the squire, are her ears? Quoth Syntax, you must ask the shears, and now perhaps her switchy tail hangs on a barn door from a nail. The doctor then began to state poor Grizzle's character and fate. "'Who was her dam, and who her sire? I care not,' says the merry squire. "'But well I know, and you shall see, who will her noble husband be?' "'Yon famed grey horse, of Arab birth, a princely steed, of nameless worth.' "'The match is very grand indeed,' says Syntax. But it won't succeed. Our household is not form'd to breed. My dearest Dorothy and I have never had a progeny. Our fortune has more wisely carved. Had she born babes, they must have starved.

What should we do with such dear elves, who scarce know how to keep ourselves? I'll hear no more, the squire replied. The scheme shall be this moment tried. Grizzle shall be young Matcham's bride. You are a very worthy man, and may the depths of learning scan, but in these things you're quite a dolt. You'll get a hundred for the colt. I'll have my whim. It shall be carried. So Grizzle was that morning married. And now the squire invites the stay of Syntax for another day. "'Your mare,' he said, "'we'll onward send, tied to the London waggon's end. When she's got forty miles or more, we'll follow in a chaise and four. At the dun cow upon the road Grizzle shall safely be bestow'd, and there, my friend, or, soon or late, her master's coming may await.

You'll neither lose nor time nor space. Your way I'm going to erase.' Where I have a famous horse to run, and if you do not like the fun, why, you may then proceed to town, with my best wishes that renown, and profit may your labors crown. Tomorrow, by the close of day, we shall find Grizzle on the way. Just as you please, the doctor said, your kind commands shall be obeyed. I think myself supremely blessed. By noble minds to be caress'd. The kind protection you impart pours oil of gladness on my heart. The ladies now desired to see his journey's pictured history. The book he showed, which proved a bribe for those kind fair ones to subscribe, and while they felt the generous pleasure of adding to his growing treasure, the squire, to keep the joke alive, Had bade his stable folk contrive, ere the good doctor's grizzle mare was yielded to the carrier's care, ere on her voyage she set sail to furnish her with ears and tail.

Grizzle was soon a crop no more, as she had been some weeks before, nor was it long before her stump felt all the honors of the rump, and thus equipt with specious art She paced behind the carrier's cart. Their breakfast on the following day the squire and Syntax bounced away, and ere the sun had set at eve the dun cow did their sage receive, where Grizzle, her day's journey's o'er, had a short time arrived before. Syntax now felt a strong desire to smoke his pipe by kitchen fire, when many a country neighbor sat. Nor did he fail to join the chat, when, having supped and drunk his ale, and silence seeming to prevail, he slowly from his pocket took his traveling memorandum-book, and as he turned the pages o'er, revolving on their curious lore, the exciseman, a right village sage, for he could cast accounts and gauge, spoke for the rest who would be proud to to hear his reverence read aloud.

He bow'd assent, and straight began to state what beauty is in man, or on the surface of the earth, or what finds in its entrails birth, with all things in their due degrees, that live in air or love the seas, in all the trees and plants that grow, in all the various flowers that blow. Of all things in the realms of nature, or senseless forms, or living creature. In short, he thus professed to show, through all the vast expanse below, from what consented state of things the varying form of beauty springs. But as he read, though full of grace, though strong expression marked his face, though his feet struck the sounding floor, And his voice thundered through the door. Each hearer, as the infection crept o'er the numbed sense, unconscious, slept.

One dropp'd his pipe, another snored, his bed of down an oaken board. The cobbler yawn'd, then sunk to rest, his chin reclining on his breast. All slept at length, but Tom and Sue— For they had something else to do. Syntax saw naught. The enraptured elf saw and heard nothing but himself. But when a swine-herd's bugle sounded, the doctor, then amazed, confounded, beheld the deathlike scene about him, and thinking it was formed to flout him, he frowned disdain, then struck his head, caught up a light, End of Canto XX

21 21 - Canto 21 21:16

Sleep, to the virtuous ever kind, Soon hushed the doctor's turbid mind, And when the morning shed its dew, He rose, His journey to pursue. Of tea and toast he took his fill, then told the host to bring the bill. But when it came it made him stare to see some curious items there. Go tell your ostler to appear. I wish to see the fellow here. The ostler now before him stands. He bows his head and rubs his hands. In this same bill, my friend, I see your witty on my mare and me. For all your corn and beans and hay, tis a fair charge which I shall pay. But here a strange demand appears for cleaning of her tail and ears. Now know, my lad, if this is done on me to play your vulgar fun, For ears and tail my mare has none.

I'll make this angry horsewhip crack in all directions on your back. The man denied an ill intent. He knew not what his reverence meant. So thought it best to say no more but bring up Grizzle to the door. Of painted canvas were her ears. Upon her stump a tail appears. So chang'd she was, so gay, so smart, deck'd out with so much curious art, that even syntax hardly dare to claim his metamorphos'd mare. He said no more, but Ken the joke was not the sport of vulgar folk, so trotted off and kindly lent his smile to aid the merriment. Now as his journey he pursued, He thus broke forth in solemn mood. Though time draws on when those at home expect that I should cease to roam, though I have objects in my view which are of great importance too, yet, as this is the day of rest, appointed both for man and beast, to the first church I will repair, and pay my solemn duties there.

Thus as he spoke, A village chime denoted it was service-time, and soon a ruddy curate came to whom he gravely told his name, his rank, and literary fame, and said as he'd been used to teaching he'd give them half an hour's preaching. This was accepted with a smile, and they both strutted up the aisle, when in due time and with due grace Syntax displayed his preaching face, and in grave tones, though somewhat hoarse, he gave the following discourse. The subject I shall now rehearse is Job V, the seventh verse.

As sparks rise upwards to the sky, so man is born to misery. This is a truth we all can tell, in every state we know it well. The infant in his cradle lies and marks his trouble as he cries. From his young eyes the waters flow, the emblems of his future woe. His cheeks the varying scenes display that mark a changeful April day. Symbols of joy and hope appear, and now a smile, and then— A tear. The years of pueling childhood o'er, The nurse's care he knows no more. To learning's disciple assign'd, The tutor forms his early mind, And hopes and fears alternate rise In all their strange varieties. How oft, disdainful of restraint, His voice lifts up the loud complaint. While stern correction's pow'rful law keeps the young urchin mind in awe, and some dark cloud for ever lowers to shade his bright and playful hours.

Nor when fair reason's steady ray begins to light life's early day, though the thick mist it instant clears, it dries not up the source of tears. Nay, tis its office as we know. Sometimes to make those tears to flow, for now the passions will impart their impulse to the unconscious heart, will mingle in youth's ardent hours and plant the thorns amid the flowers, while fancy in its various guise, with plumage of a thousand eyes, flits round the mind in wanton play to bear each serious thought away. The pleasures seldom tempt in vain to join their gay deluding train, courting the easy hearts to stray from reason's path and wisdom's way. And, oh, how oft the senses cloy with what is called the height of joy, while pale repentance comes at last to execrate the pleasure past.

At length to finish'd manhood grown, the world receives him as its own. Life's active busy scenes engage each moment of maturer age. Here pleasure courts him to her bowers, where serpents lurk beneath the flowers. Ambition tempts him to explore the height where daring spirits soar. While wealth presents the glittering awe which mingles in each mortal plan, and is the great concern of man. Thus pleasure, wealth, or love of power employs man's short or lengthen'd hour. In youth or manhood's early day pleasure first meets him on the way. The siren sings, his eager ear drinks in the sound so sweet to hear, to the delicious song a slave. He leaves his vessel to the wave, the helm forsaken. It goes on, the lightnings flash, the whirlwind blows.

When, by the furious tempest toss'd, the gay, the gilded bark is lost. But should he— Mid the ocean's roar be cast upon some distant shore. Then, wandering on the lonely coast, he sighs to think what he has lost. Health, ease, and every joy that heaven Had to his early wishes given. Life still is his, but life alone Cannot for follies past atone. When pain assails and hope is flown, He feels no more the sunny rays of smiling hours and prosperous days. The world turns from him, nor will know the man of sorrow and of woe, and bids him to some cell repair in hope to find contrition there. Nor is ambition more secure, nor less the ills which they endure. Indeed. Whose breast is seen to dwell the vice by which the angels fell.

The love of rule, the thirst of power, ne'er give a peaceful tranquil hour. Tis the fierce fever of the soul that maddens for supreme control. Whose burning thirst continual grows, whose pride no lasting pleasure knows, while hatred, envy, jealous fear Wait on the proud and bold career. Contention every act attends. Now friends are foes, now foes are friends. Enjoyment quickens new desire, and hope forever fans the fire. Whene'er the nearer height is gain'd, a loftier still must be attain'd. And then the eye looks keenly round in hopes another's to be found. One. Such is the aspiring soul, whose towering height shall crown the whole. But oft, as the aspirant gains the object of his toil and pains, the giddy view each sense appalls, in vain for some kind help he calls.

The faithless friend, the insulting foe, rejoice as to the gulf below he headlong falls. A prey to lie of grinning scorn and infamy. Now riches next demand our thought, but gold may be too dearly bought, as in each clime and every soil it wakes the universal toil. For this, defying health and ease, the sailor ploughs the distant seas. This shares the soldier's daring aim. Who fights for wealth as well as fame, But though all wish its power to wear, It proves the source of many a care. Of all the vices that infest the purlieus Of the human breast, the love of mammon Is the worst, the most detested and accursed. Pleasure's gay moments may impart Some gladness to the human heart. Ambition, too, we often find the inmate of a noble mind.

But love of riches ever bears the token of the lowest cares. We see one base, unvarying vice in the pale form of avarice. It only lifts its prayer to heaven to increase the store already given. Nor does it e'er the gift repay by shedding one kind cheering ray upon the weather-beaten shed where want scarce finds the scanty bread, by wiping from the widow's eye the flowing tears of misery, or giving to the naked form the vestment that will keep it warm. For gold it courts the sleepless night and toils through day's returning light. Nor these alone—the cool deceit, the treacherous heart, the hidden cheat, the ready lie, the hard demand, and law's oppressive gripping hand. These demons never fail to wait at mammon's dark and dreary gate.

What does he love? Can it be told? Yes, I can tell. He loves his gold. In that one term he comprehends his kindred, neighborhood, and friends. But e'en should fortune daily pour her treasures to increase his store, say, is he happy? Does he feel a pleasure which he dare reveal? Ah, no! His throbbing, anxious breast continue doubts and fears molest. See how he trembles with affright when justice claims the widow's right, and bids him at the bar appear to answer to the orphan's tear, by restoration to atone for many a wrong that he has done. Nay, a still far severer doom may aggravate the time to come. The scourge without, the scourge within, may lash the unavailing sin. And after all its toil and care, "'Tis well if he escape despair.

But e'en when pleasure is not cross'd with ruin'd health and fortune lost, yet still it leaves a void behind, and dullness stupefies the mind. The season of enjoyment o'er, the phantom then can please no more. Brief is its time, and soon is past. A vernal bloom not made to last. Say what presents its longest doom—a flower, a fever, and a tomb. What, though ambition holds its power to life's extreme but certain hour, is not its most exalted joy encumber'd with some base alloy? And on its proudest, loftiest height say— Does it always find delight? Say, could it ever guard its heart from fear's assault and envy's dart? It cannot shut the averted eye from passing life's mortality. E'en from its most aspiring brow it must behold a grave below.

Though wealth should happily be attained by fair pursuits with honor gain'd. Yet in its train how oft we see the pallid forms of misery. Intemperance yields its foul delight, and feeds the obnoxious appetite. While luxury in a thousand ways to sensual carelessness betrays, and lights up in the mortal frame disease's slow corroding flame. Fortune in fickle mood may frown, the firmest base may tumble down, while it appears in strength secure it falls and leaves its owner poor. The largest heaps of treasured wealth cannot restore declining health. They cannot bribe the sun to stay and mitigate its burning ray. Nor will the North's impetuous cold dissolve to genial warmth for gold. Time will not one short moment stay, though millions lay athwart its way.

Nor all the wealth that Cretius bore can add to life one moment more. The regal palace and the cot are subject to one common lot. The rich and poor, the small and great alike must feel the stroke of fate. Virtue alone we ought to know is real happiness below, and yet how oft her kindness proves by toil and pain the child she loves. Honor of noble minds the flower is oft betray'd by treachery's power, and charity we often see the dupe of Based hypocrisy. Who then will venture to declare that man's mistitled sorrow's heir? But brethren, let us not complain that heaven's unjust when we sustain the allotted term of care and pain. Our life in such a mould is cast. Tis plain it is not made to last, but tis a state of trial here.

To fit us for a purer sphere, a scene of contest for a prize that in another region lies, in better worlds and brighter skies. Here, doom'd a painful lot to bear, our happiness is treasured there. To struggle with the woes of life, to wage with evil constant strife. To oppose the passions as they rise, and check their wild propensities. To improve our nature, and to bear with patience the allotted share of human woes, and thus fulfill the wise and the eternal will that forms the grand mysterious plan for mortal and immortal man. Man is indeed by heaven's decree As happy as he ought to be, As suited to his state and nature, A restless, frail, and finite creature. His work well done, his labor o'er, Evil and sorrow are no more.

And, having passed the veil of death, He claims the never-fading wreath, Glories eternal crown to share, Which cherubs sing and angels wear. Then is complete the amazing plan, and mortal is immortal man. Here Syntax thought it fit to close. The admiring congregation rose, and after certain hems and haws the squire nodded his applause. Nay, such attention he had given to the sage minister of heaven that never did he sleep or snore. A wonder never known before. Then, quickly issuing from his pew, he came to thank the doctor too. "'Sir, your discourse, so good and fine, proves you to be a great divine, while I, alas, am but a sinner. So you'll go home with me to dinner, and shortly after evening prayer the curate too will meet you there.' The doctor found the house well stored.

A chattering wife and plenteous board. The dinner was a pleasing sight, for preaching gets an appetite, and Syntax could perform them both as well as any of the cloth. At length the eatables removed, the squire began the talk he loved. Squire. Have you much game, sir, where you live? Syntax. An answer, sir, I scarce can give. I never hunt, nor bear a gun. I have no time, nor like the fun. Learning's the game which I pursue. I have no other sport in view. But I have heard the country round with hares and partridge does abound, though on my table it is rare to see one or t'other there. Oft when I rise in early morn and hear the cheerful echoing horn, I'm forced from the inspiring noise to hunt a pack of idle boys, and when they babble in their din I am a special whipper-in.

Nay, if they should be found at fault, I crack my whip, sir, as I ought. Syntax now told his story o'er, a story told so oft before, when soon the squire began to feel a slumber o'er his senses steel. The curate, too bemus'd in beer, was more dispos'd to sleep than hear. Says Syntax, See the effect of drink! Heaven spare the souls which cannot think! But I will not dare sleep molest! The sabbath is a day of rest. In short, his words no more prevail. There now were none to hear his tale. He strove another pipe to smoke. But there were none to hear his joke, so on his elbow he reclin'd, and thus the sleeping party join'd. The clock struck ten ere they awoke, when a shrill voice their slumbers broke.

In such a tone it seem'd to come that Syntax thought himself at home. So, having yawn'd and shook their heads, they wish'd good-night and sought their beds.

End of Canto XXI

22 22 - Canto 22 22:25

Canto XXII The clock struck five when Syntax woke, The sounding door his slumbers broke, When a soft female voice related that breakfast and her master waited. Up rose the doctor, down he went, with joyful look and heart content. "'Well,' said the squire, "'I hope you'll stay and pass with me another day. The sporting season's coming on, and something now is to be done. For I must breathe my dogs a bit, and try my gun on some tomtit.' "'You'll take a stroll around the fields and see what game my manner yields?' says Syntax, "'Tis not in my power to pass with you another hour. While you perform your sporting feats, I must be tramping London streets. You therefore will my thanks receive, for now, sir, I must take my leave."

The squire replied, "'All I can say another time.'" A longer stay, and then walk'd off with dog and gun, while Syntax travel'd slowly on, and o'er the hill or on the plain indulge the contemplative strain. I cannot, while I nature view, cloth'd in her robe of verdant hue, or when the changeful veil is thrown of summer's gold or autumn's brown, or midst the scenes of snow and frost, When her gay colouring is lost, I cannot but the power admire That gives such charms to her attire. Nor do her wondrous shapes that rise In countless form to meet the eyes Mark with less force the unerring soul With which such beauty decks the whole. The mountain's top that seems to meet The height of heaven's imperial seat.

The rocks, the valley's guardian pride, or boundaries of the ocean's tide that aft in grand confusion hurl'd seem like the fragments of a world, while the low hill and vale between appear to variegate the scene. But lesser forms invite to trace fair nature's ever-varying face, the humble shrub, the spreading tree. In this same principle agree. Along the ground the brambles crawl, And the low hyssop tops the wall. The bulrush rises from the sedge, The wild rose blossoms in the hedge, While flowers of every color shed A fragrance from their native bed. The streamlet winding through the glade, The hanging wood, the forest shade. The river's bold and flowing wave doth many a peopled margin lave, till with increasing course tis seen to blend its white waves with the green.

Nor these alone, how various they who cleave the air or skim the sea, or range the plain, or, from the brow, look down upon the vale below. The cygnet's snow, the peacock's dies. The pigeon's neck, the eagle's eyes, nor in less beauty do they rove who form the music of the grove, the elephant's resistless force, the strength and spirit of the horse, the ermine's softness, and the boar with rising bristles covered o'er. Thus throughout nature's various state of living or inanimate in every different class we see How boundless the variety! What playful change in all we know Of this mysterious world below, In all where instinct motion gives, In what by vegetation lives! But these are trivial when we look Through the first page of Nature's book, When, half-inspired, we're taught to scan The vast varieties of man.

Thus, in deep metaphysic mood, syntax his shortened way pursued, and many a system had been brought to ripen in his learned thought. But none arose which did not tend poor human nature to befriend. None but were aptly form'd to prove the firm support of social love. Thus, all bemus'd, he took his way. Unconscious of the passing day, and thus employed in cogitating—no wonder he ne'er thought of baiting! No wonder that it came to pass when Grizzle saw a little grass, that he contemplating the view of knotty questions never knew she stopt to take a bite or two, or when they pass'd a limpid brook that she a plenteous beverage took. Or if by chance upon the road they found a cart with hay well stowed, she lagged behind to crop the fare and levy contributions there.

But now a trumpet's warlike sound woke Syntax from his dream profound. While Grizzle frisked and moved on straight with many a prancing to the gate, where in a gorgeous cap of fur stood the proclaiming trumpeter. With face as the old lion red, which dangling hung above his head. "'Oh!' he exclaimed. "'I now could swear I see again the grizzle mare. I know her well by that same scar which she got with me in the war.' For she received that angry hack while I was sounding on her back. A furious huzzah onward came, and struck at me, but missed his aim. When my poor mare received the blow, and straight the blood began to flow. Nay, the same sword had cracked my crown, but my brave companion Stephen Brown came up and cut the Frenchman down.

I have been borne by that same grey through many a rough and bloody day. Her ears well know the marshal's strain. I'm glad to see her once again. That well may be, but for her ears a wicked clown's infernal shears have robbed her, Syntax smiling said, of the fair honours of her head. Nor did one tender thought prevail from the same fate to save her tale. He then proceeded to relate her past mishap and present state, and asked the trumpeter to share A flowing bowl, and evening fare. Now Syntax sat and heard the story, the soldier told of England's glory, how British columns fought their way and drove the foe and won the day, how oft he did his breath enlarge to call to arms and sound the charge.

But though he roused to many a feat, he never sounded a retreat. Still he declaimed in modest tone, For England's glory was his own. Oft have I seen in bright array, sure promise of a glorious day, The martial bands alive to meet their foes, And lay them at their feet. And when my breathing trumpet told em To go and conquer, to behold em, At once their bleeming blades display, And rush on their victorious way. I felt the inexpressive joy which grim-faced danger could not cloy. If that same grizzle steed you rode could speak, she'd tell the ground she trod was oft, alas, all covered o'er with soldiers slain and clotted gore. Full many a hairbreadth scape I've seen, in many a peril I have been.

And soon again the time may come, when, ordered from our native home, we shall seek foreign climes to share the dangers and the din of war. So be it, I'm prepared to go, whenever I may meet the foe. And should it be my lot to die, I have no wife nor babes to cry. And mid what bloodshed I may fall, there'll be an end of Thomas Hall.

Said Syntax, it is well, my friend, to be prepared to meet our end. To do that well I am called to preach. Tis a prime duty which I teach. But thoughts of a far different kind just now employ my anxious mind. The present busy hours must claim attention to my purse and fame, and, as I think twould prove a joke, To show my mare to London folk, it has just come into my mind To leave poor Grizzle here behind, And let some stage or mail convey My bags and me, my onward way. Perhaps for old acquaintance's sake Of my poor beast the care you'll take. If so, the trumpeter replied, "'T'will be my honour and my pride." God bless your reverence. Never fear your mare shall have protection here. When you return her looks will tell that her old friend has used her well.

A horn now told the near approach of some convenient rapid coach, and soon a vehicle and four appeared at the red lion door. Into his place the doctor pounced. The coachman smacked. And off they bounced. The scene around was quite composing, for his companions all were dozing, so he forsooth conceived it best to close his lids and try to rest. When the morn dawn'd he turn'd an eye upon his slumbering company, a red-faced man who snor'd and snorted, a lady with both eyes distorted. And a young miss of pleasing mien with all the life of gay sixteen. A sudden jolt their slumbers broke. They started all, and all awoke, when surly boots yawned wide and spoke. "'We move,' said he, confounded slow. "'La, sir,' cried miss, "'how fast we go!' While Madam, with a smirking face, declared it was a middling pace.

"'Pray, what think you, sir?' "'I agree,' said Simpering Syntax, with all three. "'Up hill our course is rather slow. Down hill how merrily we go. But when tis neither up nor down, it is a middling pace I own.' "'O la!' cried Miss, the thought so pretty. Oh, yes," growled Redface, very witty. The lady said, If I can scan the temper of the gentleman, he's one of those, I have no doubt, who loves to let his humour out. Nor fails his threadbare wit to play on all who come within his way. But we who in these stages roam and leave our coach and four at home deserve our lot when thus we talk with those who were ordained to walk. And now, my niece, you see how wrong it is to use your flippant tongue, and chatter as you're apt to do with any one the Lord knows who.

Surly turned round, and friendly sleep soon o'er his senses gan to creep. So Syntax thought he'd overlook the embryo of his future book. Thus all was silence till they came. To the great town we name. Our sage thought wisely that the din which he should hear about an inn would not assist his studious hours, nor aid his intellectual powers, to make his volume fit to show the dons of Paternoster Row, and as his patron of the North, that lord renowned for sense and worth, had bid him make his house his home, Wherever he to town should come, he was resolv'd to try his fate in knocking at his lordship's gate. At that same gate he soon appear'd. My lord with smiles the doctor chear'd. "'You have done well, my learned friend, hither your early steps to bend.

Business has brought me up to town, and thus you find me all alone. Here pitch your tent and pass your hour.' in working up your pleasant tour. And when tis done, I'll age your scheme. It shall not prove an idle dream. Syntax received his lordship's grace, with moisten eye but smiling face, and for ten days at morn and night he toil'd to bring his book to light, while the few intervening hours were rented gay with wine and flowers.

Huck Vina et Unguenta et Minium Breves Flores Amniae Fer Dube Rosee My Lordship, by generous friendship mov'd, Now read his volume, and approv'd. "'Think not,' said he, "'I fondly give opinions tending to deceive, But I'm sincere, my friend, you'll see when I declare that you are free to dedicate your book to me. Nor is this all. I'll recommend my very pleasant, learned friend to one who has as liberal feeling as any in this kind of dealing. And when my letter you present, he'll take the work and give content. Thus, my good sir, I've done my best. You'll see him. And explain the rest. The doctor now received his papers in spirit almost to cut capers. Nor did he then delay to go not to the realms of sight and show, but those of Pater Noster Row.

The shop he entered, all around he saw the shelves with volumes crowned, in Russia and Morocco bound. And when he had with fond delight Glanced o'er the literary sight. "'Go call your master,' Syntax said to an attendant on the trade. "'Tell him that A. D. D. is here.' The lad then answered with a sneer. "'To no D. D. will he appear. He would not come for all the knowledge of Oxford nor of Cambridge College. I cannot go, as I am a sinner. I dare not interrupt his dinner. You know not how I should be blamed.' Stamping his foot, Syntax exclaimed, Apollo and the Muses Nine! Must learning wait while tradesmen dine? They're common hacks, replied the boy. We never such as those employ. I've heard their names, but this I know they seldom come into the row.

The master, who had filled his crop in a smart room behind the shop, on hearing a loud angry voice, came forth to know what caused the noise, and left his wife and bottle too to see about this strange to-do. He was a man whose ample paunch was made of beef and ham and haunch, and when he saw the shrivelled form of syntax he began to storm. Bookseller. I wish to know, sir, what you mean by kicking up, sir, such a scene? And who you are, sir, and your name, and on what errand here you came.

My errand was to bid you look with care and candour on this book, and tell me whether you think fit to buy or print or publish it. The subject which the work contains is art and nature's fair domains. "'Tis form the curious to allure. In short, good man, it is a tour." With drawings all from nature made, and with no common skill display'd, each house, each place, each lake, each tree, these fingers drew, these eyes did see. Bookseller. A tour, indeed. I've had enough of tours and such like flimsy stuff. What a fool's errand you have made! I speak the language of the trade. To travel all the country o'er and write which has been writ before, I can get tours, don't make wry faces, from those who never saw the places.

I know a man who has the skill to make you books of tours at will, and from his garret in moor fields can see what every country yields. So if you please you may retire, and throw your book into the fire. You need not grin, my friend, nor vapour. I would not buy it for waste-paper. SYNTAX BLOCKHEAD! And is it thus you treat the men by whom you drink and eat? Do you not know, and must I tell ye, tis they that fill out your monstrous belly? Yes, booby, from such skulls as mine you lap your soup and drink your wine, without one single ray of sense. But what relates to pounds and pence? Thus good and evil formed the whole, Heaven gave you wealth, and gave me a soul. And I would never be an ass For all your gold with all your brass.

When humble authors came to sue Those very men that pamper you, You feel like Jove in all his pride, With Juno squatting by his side. How dare you, villain, to defame my dearest wife's unsullied name? Yes, she's my wife. Ten years ago the parson joined our hands at Bow, and she's the flower of all our row. As for Miss Juno, she's a harlot, you foul-mouthed and malicious varlet, a prostitute who is well known to all the rakes about the town. First with a footman off she ran. and now lives with an alderman.

Have done, have done, pray read that letter, and then I think you'll treat me better. Bookseller Sir, had you shown the letter first, my very belly should have burst. Before I would have said a word, your learned ears should not have heard. But in this world wherein we live— We must forget, sir, and forgive. These little heats will sometimes start from the most friendly generous heart. My lord speaks highly of your merit, as of the talents you inherit. He writes himself supremely well. His works are charming, for they sell. I pray you, take a glass of wine. Perhaps, sir, you have yet to dine. We now, I fear, have nothing hot. My dear, put something in the pot. "'T'will soon be done, or tell our Nan to toss a cutlet in the pan.

"'His Lordship here expressly says, "'Your work transcends his utmost praise. "'Desires the printing may commence, "'and he'll be bound for the expense. "'The book will sell, I have no doubt. "'I'll spare no pains to bring it out.' A book like this must not be stinted. Two thousand copies shall be printed, and if you please— Syntax. I cannot stay. We'll talk of that another day. When I came out I gave my word to take my dinner with my lord. Bookseller. Perhaps some other day you'll come, when my good lord may dine from home. It will be kind indeed to share, quite as a friend, our humble fair. In the meantime you may command in every sense my heart and hand.

Thus such are this world's odds and ends. Though foes they met, they parted friends.

23 23 - Canto 23 28:31

Canto XXIII Whatever of genius or of merit, the child of labour may inherit, They will not in this mortal state or give him wealth or make him great, unless that strange capricious dame whom pagan poets fortune name, that unseen ever active power, propitious, aids his toilsome hour. Throughout my life I've struggled hard, and what has been my lean reward? What have I gained by learned lore, by deeply reading o'er and o'er what every ancient sage has writ, renown'd for pure and attic wit, or those rich volumes which dispense the strange of Roman eloquence? No favouring patrons have I got, but just enough to boil the pot. But though by toil and pain I know what every Hebrew root doth grow, and can each hidden truth descry, from Genesis to Malachi, yet I have never been decreed to shear the fleeces that I feed.

No, they enrich the idle dunce, who never saw his flock but once. And meanly grudges e'en to spare my pittance for their weekly fare. Have I made any real friends by wasting eyes and candles' ends? And though a good musician, too, what did my fiddle ever do? I sometimes might employ its power to soothe an overanxious hour, but though it with my temper suits It never yet could soften brutes. My sketching-pencil too is known in every house throughout the town. For to replace some horrid scrawl my drawings hang on every wall, and yet tis true, as I'm a sinner, they seldom paid me with a dinner. What do I get poor boys to teach, and drive in learning at the breach? A task— Which Lucian says is given as the worst punishment from heaven.

While fortune's boobies cut and carve, I may be said to teach and starve. Too happy if on Christmas day I've just enough the duns to pay, though sometimes I have almost swore, when from the threshold of the door my poverty repelled the poor. When the cask emptied of its ale, no more the thirsty could regale. At length the lucky moment came to fill my purse, and gave me fame, and after all my labors past, hope bids me look for rest at last. For scarce had I one prosperous hour till fortune bid me write a tour. Oft have I said in words unkind that strumpet fortune's very blind. But now I think the wench can see, since she's become so kind to me. To say the truth I scarce believe the favors which I now receive.

In a lord's house I take my rest, a welcome and an honor'd guest. The favours on my tour I found are by his present kindness crowned. I'd heard, indeed, that these same lords were only friendly in their words. But truth alone my patron moves, whose friendship every promise grooves. Here Syntax did his feelings broach as he reclined within a coach. For pondering as he pass'd along, he was sore pummel'd by the throng. Now by a porter's package greeted, now on the pavement he was seated, while deafen'd by a newsboy's din, a fruit-girl's barrow strikes his shin, and as his cautious course he guides, the passing elbows punch his sides, while a cart-wheel with luckless spurt. Gives him a taste of London dirt.

At length, to get in safety back, he sought the comforts of a hack. His little journey at an end, the doctor join'd his noble friend. Together they in comfort dine, then munch'd their cakes and sipp'd their wine. When Syntax briefly thus display'd his parley with the man of trade. I owe unto your lordship's name my future gains in gold and fame. My uncombed wig, my suit of black, which had grown rusty on my back, my grisly visage, pale and thin, my carcass, naught but bones and skin, presented to the tradesman's eye the ghastly form of poverty. Nor would he deign to cast a look upon the pages of my book, but with the fierceness of a Turk in sorry terms revil'd my work, and let loose all his purse-proud spleen against a thing he ne'er had seen.

But your kind note, where it was say'd that all expenses should be paid, new dyed my coat, new cock'd my hat, Pow'd' my wig, and made me fat. His eye now saw me plump and sleek, with not a wrinkle in my cheek, and strength and stateliness and vigour completed my important figure. While in my pocket his keen look glanced at your lordship's pocket-book. "'Twas now I'm sure the work will sell." And pay the learned author well. Then graced his shrill and sputtering speeches, With pulling up his monstrous breeches, And made me all the humblest bows His vast protuberance allows. For had he come with purse in hand, E'en Satan might his press command, So that the book had not a flaw To risk the dangers of the law.

Prove but his gains, and he'll be civil, to the doctor or the devil. Thus Syntax and his patron sat, and thus prolonged the evening chat. My lord, your rapid pencil fairly traces men's characters as well as faces. Your latter sketch is true to nature, and gives me vellum's every feature. With all your various talents fraught, so deeply read, so ably taught, I feel a curious wish to know from whence your high endowments flow, and how it happens that a man, whose worth I scarce know how to scan, should ne'er have reached a better state than seems to be your present fate.

My lord, a very scanty page will tell my birth and parentage. A moderate circle will contain my round of pleasure and of pain, till you, my ever-honored friend, bade my horizon wide extend and light it up a brighter ray to beam upon my clouded day. My father was a noble creature as e'er was formed by pregnant nature, a learned clerk, a sound divine, a favorite of the virgins nine who dwell upon Parnassian Hill or bathe in Heliconian Rill, in the sequester'd vale of life an equal foe to pride and strife. He pass'd his inoffensive day by teaching virtue's peaceful way. A shepherd form'd his flock to bless in this world's thorny wilderness, and lead them, when their time is o'er, to where, good man, he's gone before.

Ambition ne'er disturb'd his rest, nor bred a serpent in his breast to sting his peace. No sordid care corroded the contentment there, while he possessed an income clear of full five hundred pounds a year. My mother, first of womankind in figure, feature, and in mind, in her calm sphere contented moved the counterpart of him she loved. Formed to adorn the highest lot, she graced the vicar's rural cot. With all those manners that become the parson's wife, the village dame, they lived and loved, and might have wore the flitch when twenty-year were o'er. An only child appeared to prove the pledge of fond connubial love. I was that child, a darling boy, their daily hope, their daily joy. My anxious father did not spare the urchin to another's care, he taught the little forward elf to be the image of himself.

And from the cradle he began to form and shape the future man. When fifteen summer suns had shed their lustre on my curly head, to Alma Mater he consign'd with pious hope my ripening mind. There seven short years, for short they were, fair science was my only care. I gave my nights, I gave my days, to Tully's page and Homer's lays. Whate'er is known of ancient lore, I fondly studied o'er and o'er. I followed each appointed course, and traced up, learning to its source. But in my way I gathered flowers, I sought the muses in their bowers, And did their favouring smiles repay With many a lyric roundelay. Nor did I fail the art to woo Of music and of painting too. Thus was my early manhood past, In happiness too great to last.

My father died. And ere his urn had filled my arms, I had to mourn a mother who refused to stay When her loved mate was ta'en away. What followed? I was left alone, And the world seized me as its own. I sought gay fashion's motley throng, On pleasure's tide I sailed along. Till by rude storms and tempests toss'd, my shatter'd bark at length was lost, while I stood naked on the shore, my treasure gone, my pleasure o'er. Now, chang'd by fortune's fickle wind, the friends I cherished proved unkind. All those who shared my prosperous day, whene'er they saw me— Turn'd away, and as I almost wanted bread I undertook a bear to lead, to see the brute perform his dance through Holland, Italy, and France.

But it was such a very bruin, to be with him was worse than ruin. So, having paced o'er the classic ground, and sailed the Grecian isles around — a pleasure sure beyond compare — Though linked in couples with a bear, I took my leave and left the cub, Some humble Swiss to pay and drub. Yet when I reached my native shore, Determin'd to lead bears no more, No better prospect did I see Than a free school and curacy. The country tradesman's sons to teach? In lonely village church to preach, With the proud sneer and vulgar taught, Oft thrown at learning when in want. All which you'll think, my noble friend, Did not to ease or comfort tend, But now another act displays the folly of my former days, A new scene opens of my life.

For faith, my lord, I took a wife. My lord, I should have thought a married mate must have improved your lonely state, that a kind look and winning smile would serve your labours to beguile.

Love in itself is very good, but tis by no means solid food. And ere our honeymoon was o'er, I found we wanted something more. This was the cause of all my trouble. My income would not carry double. But led away from reason's plan, By love, that torturer of man, In our delirium we forgot What is life's unremitted lot. That man and woman too are born beneath each rose to find a thorn. We thought, as other fools have done, that Hyman's laws had made us one, but had forgot that nature, true to her own purpose, made us two. There were two mouths that daily cried at morn and eve to be supplied. Though by one vow we were betrothed, there were two bodies to be clothed. And to improve my happiness, Dolly is very fond of dress.

My head's content with one hat on it, while Dorothy has hat and bonnet. In short, there's no day passes through, but I and my dear doll are two. One good has my kind fortune sped. Dolly, my lord, has never bred. Thus, though we're always two, you see, we happily yet have ne'er been three. She came a beauty to my arms. Her only dower was her charms. But much she saved me I must own by never bringing brats to town. My lord, another time, my reverend guest, I hope you will relate the rest. I truly wish the whole to know, but business calls, and I must go. I need not, sure, repeat my words, command whate'er the house affords. The peer thus with the doctor parted, and left him gay and easy-hearted, while many a pipe his thoughts digest.

Till his eyes told the hour of rest.

When the next morn and breakfast came, said Syntax, I should be to blame, if I delay'd to tell my mind to one so generous and so kind, in hopes such counsel to receive as he will condescend to give. For as I on my bed reclin'd, A sudden thought possessed my mind, which may produce, as I've a notion, a north-west passage to promotion. Loyal and true I've ever been, and much of this same world I've seen, well versed in the historic page of this and every other age, I could employ my studious hour for those who hold the reins of power. And sure, A well-turn'd pamphlet might attention from the court invite, but which I could in nervous prose unveil the ministerial foes, and with no common skill and care praise and support the powers that are.

I then might be preferr'd at once no more the prey of any dunce, who views poor authors as mere drudges. And every draught he pays them grudges, nor cares how much he makes them feel just as a cook made skins an eel. It would be better far, I trow, than this same paternoster row where the poor bees in learning's hive toil but to make the tradesmen thrive, and for their intellectual honey get but a poor return in money. It would be cutting matters short, could I but find a friend at court. "'T'would be, and I repeat the notion, a north-west passage to promotion."

My lord, patient my learned doctor here, and to my counsels give an ear. I long have known, and known too well, the country where you wish to dwell. Corruption, fraud, and envy wait at the proud statesman's crowded gate. There fawning flattery wins its way. There the base passions join the fray, like beasts that on each other prey, while the smile hides each traitorous heart, and interest plays a proteus part. You've too much virtue, my good friend, your talents and your time to lend to such a power for such an end. Can you work up the specious lie that does not quite the truth deny? Can you that kind of truth relate, on which you may prevaricate? Will you from others bear to seek what you must think and write and speak?

Will you to-day their systems borrow and calmly shake them off to-morrow? Will you, chameleon-like, receive the hue a patron wants to give? You've too much honest pride to be a scribbler to the treasury, where you must wait the lagging hour and cringe to images of power, to men in offices, upstart elves, who think of little but themselves. When long a hackneyed slave you've been, and dashed and divved through thick and thin, when you have changed each purer thought for morals which in courts are taught, when all distinctions that belong to what is right and what is wrong have of your reason lost their hold for driblets of a patron's gold, when thee bold logic, framed by truth. Your filial boast in early youth leads to the vacillating rule of policy's complying school.

When guile and cunning from your breast have driven that once honoured guest, you may perhaps, or you may not, be set aside unheard, forgot, or happily find when virtues lost, repentance and some Petty Post. This will not do, my learned friend. You must better things attend. All thoughts of Downing Street forego, and stick to Paternoster Row. The man of trade you cannot blame, for money is his native aim. It is the object of all trade to make as much as can be made. Bankers and booksellers alike at every point of profit strike, and the same spirit you will meet in Mincing Lane or Lombard Street. "'Tis not confined, we all must know, to vulgar tradesmen in the row. Success depends on writing well.

Booksellers bow when volumes sell. On the exchange, each day at three, this selfsame principle you'll see led thither. The vast pressing throng. And no, dear sir, or right or wrong, tis that which makes Old England strong. Though rogueries in Vellum's shop, it is, my friends, the nation's prop. For though you please, good sir, to flout it, Old England could not do without it. Without it she might be as good, but half as great she never would. I look with pleasure to the fame that now awaits your learned name, and when your labours are well paid you'll be the eulogist of trade. Vellum may be a purse-proud sit, with more of money than of wit, but Vellum, my good sir, can tell the kind of book that's made to sell.

Indeed, the man whose pockets full, however empty be his skull, Although immeasurably dull, will find midst the ill-judging crowd far greater reason to be proud than he whose head contains a store of critic skill and learned lore, if to his wit he does not join the blest command of ready coin. Write and get rich, nor fear the taunts of booksellers and such gallants. Vellum. Has no more sordid tricks than those who deal in politics. But till your various learnings known, And your works sell throughout the town, Till, having settled fortune's spite, Your name shall sanction what you write, Let Vellum his rewards bestow, Nor scoff at Paternoster Rowe. To your kind words I've naught to say, but thank your lordship, and obey.

And now, as twenty years have passed since I beheld fair London last, I shall employ the present day in strolling calmly to survey what changes time and chance have made, what wealth has done and art essay'd, what taste has in its fancies shown To give new splendour to the town. That being done, I'll make my way to Covent Garden, to the play. Then, said his lordship, when we meet I shall expect a special treat, to hear my learned friend impart his notions of dramatic art. The doctor bowed, and off he went upon his curious progress bent. He paced the parks. He viewed each square, and staring he made others stare. At length at the appointed hour he hastened to the playhouse door, and took his place within the pit, beside a critic and a wit, as wits and critics now are known who hash up nonsense for the town, and in the daily columns show how small the sum of all they know.

I think— Said Syntax, looking round, it is not good, this vast profound. I see no well-wrought columns here, no attic ornaments appear, nought but a washy, wanton waste of gaudy tints and puny taste. Too large to hear, too long to see, full of unmeaning symmetry. The parts all answer one another each. Pigeon-hole reflects its brother, and all, alas, too plainly show how easy tis to form a row. But where's the grand, the striking hole? A theatre should have a soul. Excuse me, sir, the critic said, these theatres are all a trade. Their owners laugh at scrolls and freezes. "'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 architectural graces would take up room and fill up places."

"'This may be true, sir, to the letter, but genius would have managed better." Syntax replied, "'Nay, I am willing to let them gain the utmost shilling.'" But surely talent might be found, the natives to a British ground, who could have blended attic merit with this proprietary spirit. Thus as he spoke the curtain rose, and forced his harangue to a close. But still as they the drama viewed, the conversation was renewed and lasted till the whole was o'er, when, as they passed the playhouse door, the critic said, "'Twill wound my heart if you and I so soon must part. Oh, 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 replied, "'and I must go. But this I can most boldly say. You scarce will meet him at the play.'" When Fairley got into the street—'Oh,' thought the doctor, what a treat for my good lord when next we meet.

24 24 - Canto 24 19:14

And now Syntax, as he travelled back, lolling and stretching in a hack, could not but ponder in his mind on what he had just left behind. "'I've seen a play,' he muttering said, "'twas Shakespeare's, but in masquerade. I've seen a farce, I scarce know what, "'twas only fit to be forgot. I've seen a critic, and have heard the string of nonsense he preferr'd. Heaven bless me, where has learning fled, where has she hid her sacred head? And how degraded is she grown to spawn such boobies on the town. The sterling gold is seen no more. In vain we seek the genuine awe. Some mixture doth its worth debase. Some wire-drawn nonsense takes its place. How few consume the midnight oil. How few in learning's labor toil.

Content as they in curious stray through life's unprofitable day, with straws that on the surface flow, nor look for pearls that live below, they ne'er the hidden depths explore, but gather sea-weed on the shore. There was a period when the stage was thought to dignify the age, when learned men were seen to sit upon the benches of the pit. When, to his art and nature true, Garrick his various pictures drew, While every passion, every thought, he to perfection fully wrought. By nature's self supremely taught, he did her very semblance bare, And looked as she herself were there. Whether old Lear's form he wore, with age and sorrow covered o'er. Or Romeo's amorous flame possess, that torture of the human breast.

Or gay Lothario's glowing pride, in conquest or his rival's bride. Or when with fair ambition warm, in Macbeth or in Gloucester's form, he gave each passion to the eye in all its fine variety. The words he did not loudly quote. But acted e'en as Shakespeare wrote. Nor was he less, for he could range in every wayward busy change known in the field of scenic art, the true chameleon of the heart, when he assum'd the merry glee of laughter-loving comedy. In ranger's tricks, or where he strove in Benedict to hide his love, when he in drugger's doublet shone Or Brute's rude rivalry put on, when he the jealous Kitely played, when the same passion he essay'd in Felix. But what truth and force he urged that passion's different course, worked up in its features all anew, but still he was to nature true.

Nay, e'en in farce he could awake th— The fun that made the galleries shake. The heart he cheated of its woe, and made the poignant tear to flow, lit up a joy in every eye, or drowned the soul in agony. He ever was to nature true, but no false arts did he subdue, the attentive mind, the listening ear. In all the drama's wide career he ne'er outstepped the unerring rule which he had learned in nature's school. In every part he did excel. He aimed at all, and all was well. In those good times none went to see the mere effects of scenery—the constant laugh, the forced grimace, the vile distortions of the face. In those good times none went to see pyrrhos and clowns in comedy. Men sought perfection to discern, and learned critics went to learn.

Shakespeare, immortal bard sublime, unmatched within the realm of time, he did not with Promethean aim attempt to steal ethereal flame. Rather to him the thoughts of heaven. Were by celestial boundary given. He read profound in every page of nature's volume, every age, and act of man, each passion's course he traces with a resistless force, nay, with a more than mortal art gives unknown feelings to the heart. And doth the yielding fancy bear just as his magic wills and wear. His page still lives, and sure will last, till time and all its years are past. The poet, to the end of time, breathes in his work and lives in rhyme. But when the actor sinks to rest, and the turf lies upon his breast, a poor traditionary fame is all that's left to grace his name.

The drama's children strut and play, In borrowed parts their lives away, And then they share the obvious lot. Smith will, like Sibber, be forgot. Sibber with fascinating art Could wake the pulses of the heart, But hers is an expiring name, And darling Smith's will be the same. Of Garrick's self e'en naught remains, His art and him One grave contains. In others' minds to make him live is all remembrance now can give. All we can say, alas, how vain! We ne'er shall see his like again. Just as this critic speech was o'er, the coach stopt at his lordship's door. But my good lord was gone to bed, so syntax to his chamber sped. Where, with his pipe and o'er his bottle, he chewed the card of Aristotle.

Till stretch'd upon a bed of down, sleep did his head with Poppy's crown, and well he slept, until a voice desired to know if twas his choice, still to sleep on, and then it stated, his lordship and the breakfast waited. Well, said my lord when he appeared, I hope the play your spirits cheered. Fullstaff, the morning critics tell, was never surely played so well. These critics, Syntax smiling said, are wretched bunglers at their trade. One sat beside me in the pit, no more a critic than a wit. Between the acts we both expressed on what was worst or what was best. And wild those intervals away in changing thoughts upon the play, and though both form to disagree, naught passed but perfect courtesy.

Perhaps it may your fancy suit to hear our classical dispute. I think, my lord, to have proved a treat, should you allow me to repeat all that this criticizing sage knew of the humors of the stage. For as to what should form a play, how actors should their parts convey, what are the drama's genuine laws, the source from whence true genius draws? Such scenes as when to nature shown, she loud exclaims, They are my own. He knew no more, it will appear, than the tea-urn that's boiling here. Like that he did no more than bubble. And without any toil or trouble they felt the trouble who sat near him, for sure enough, "'twas toil to hear him." After some general trifling chat of the new playhouse and all that, the scenes that passed before our eyes produced these questions and replies.

In short, I'll state our quids pro quos just in the order they arose. Critic. Oh, what a full staff! Oh, how fine! Oh, tis great acting, and tis divine. Syntax. His acting's great, that I can tell ye, for all the acting's in his belly. Critic. But with due deference to your joke, a truer word I never spoke, than when I said you've never been the witness of a finer scene. The admired actor whom you see plays the fat knight most charmingly. "'Tis in this part he doth excel. Quinn never played it half so well." Syntax. You ne'er saw Quinn the stage adorn. He acted ere your sire was born, and critics, sir, who lived before ye, would have disclosed a different story. This play I've better acted seen in country towns where I have been.

I do not hesitate to say I'd rather read this very play by my own parlour fireside, with my poor judgment for my guide, than see the actors of this stage who make me gape at Shakespeare's page. When I read Falstaff to myself I laugh like any merry elf. While my mind feels a cheering glow That Shakespeare only can bestow. The swaggering words in his defence, Which scarce are wit, and yet are sense, The ribald jest, the quick conceit, The boast of many a braggart feat, The half-grave questions and replies, In his high-wrought soliloquies, The dubious thought, the pleasant prate. Which give no time to love or hate, in each succession do they flow, from no to yea, from yea to no, have not been to my mind convey'd by this pretender to his trade.

The smile sarcastic and the leer that tells the laughing mockery near, the warning look that ere tis spoke aptly forbodes the coming joke. The air so solemn, yet so sly, Shaped to conceal the ready lie, The eyes, with some shrewd meaning bright, I surely have not seen to-night. Again, I must beg leave to tell ye, Tis naught of Falstaff, but his belly. Critic. All this is fine, and maybe true. But with such truths I've naught to do, I'm sure, sir, I shall say aright, When I report the great delight The enraptured audience feel to-night. It is indeed with no small sorrow I cannot your opinions borrow To fill the columns of to-morrow. My light critique will be preferred, The public always takes my word.

Nay, the loud plaudits heard around. Must all your far-fetched thoughts confound. I truly wonder when I see you do not laugh as well as me.

My muscles other ways are drawn. I cannot laugh, sir, while I yawn.

But you will own the scenes are fine.

What'er the acting, they're divine. And fit for any pantomime. Of this it is that I complain. These are the tricks which I disdain. The painter's art the play commends. On gaudy show success depends. The clothes are made in just design. They are well-charactered and fine. The actors now, I think, heaven bless em, must learn their art from those who dress em. But give me actors, give me plays, on which I could with rapture gaze, though coats and scenes were made of bays. For if the scene were highly wrought, if players acted as they ought, you would not then be pleased to see this heavy mass of frippery. Hear Horace, sir, who wrote of plays in ancient Rome's Augustan days. Tento cum strippito ludi.

spectentor est artes. Dividice perigine quibus oblitus actor camstetit in sina con carit dextra larvae.

Critic. Your pardon, sir, but all around me there are such noises, they confound me, and though I full attention paid, I scarcely know a word you say'd. To say the truth I must acknowledge, tis long since I have quitted college. Virgil and Horace are my friends, I have them at my fingers' ends. But Grecian lore, I blush to own, is wholly to my mind unknown. I therefore must your meaning seek. Oblige me, sir, translate your Greek. But see, the farce is now begun, and you must listen to the fun. It sure has robbed you of your bile, for now, methinks, you deign to smile.

The thing is droll, and aptly bent to raise a vulgar merriment, but Mary Andrew's seen as such Have often made me laugh as much. An actor does not play the fool when he forsakes old Shakespeare's rule, and lets his own foul nonsense out to please the ill-judging rabble rout. But when he swears to furnish laughter the beadle's whip should follow after. There's Terence, sir, and then there's Plautus. They've both a better lesson taught us. Terence, I know, he wrote in Latin, just as the weaver makes his satin. He well deserved the comic bays. For Westminster he wrote his plays, and Plautus was a fellow famous. He wrote a farce called Ignoramus, where lawyers by profession bowled in Latin and in English scold.

At length, my lord, the parley ended. Which to amuse cannot be mended. You well may laugh so loud, but I feel myself more disposed to cry, when thus I see what asses sit in judgment upon works of wit. I own, my lord, I love a play, when some performers turn'd away by green-room tyrants from the boards of London's stage, our town affords to tempt or her Or him to stay for a few nights upon their way, then Doll and I are seen to sit conspicuous in our country pit. Thus, as he spoke with frequent bows and fifty wens and wares and hows, Vellum appeared with solemn look to talk about the doctor's book. He said, "'Twas true a learned friend the manuscript didn't much commend. He thinks it is a work of merit."

Written with learning taste and spirit, the sketches too, if he don't err, possess appropriate character. "'Tis to the humour of our age, and has your lordship's patronage, I therefore wish the work to buy, and deal with liberality. "'Tis true, the paper's very dear, and workman's wage is most severe. The volume's heavy, and demands the engravers with the printer's hands." Besides, there is a risk to run before the press its work has done. New taxes may perhaps be laid on some prime article of trade. And then the price will be so high. The persons are but few who buy books of so very costly kind. But still the work is to my mind. I'll try my luck, and will be bound to give, my lord, three hundred pound.

After some little chat on trade, the bargain was completely made, the work transferr'd, the money paid. "'Though,' said my lord, "'I think your gains by no means equal to your pains, for vellum will a bargain drive as well as any man alive. The work must give my friend a name and stamp his literary fame. Twill Pater Noster Row command. And keep old vellum cap in hand. And when a name is up, tis said, The owner may lie snug in bed, Right on, the learned track pursue, And booksellers shall cringe to you.

Much passed upon his lordship's part, Which showed the goodness of his heart, While Syntax made his full replies, Not with his tongue, but with his eyes.

End of Canto XXIV

25 25 - Canto 25 28:34

The doctor, too, as he had nothing else to do, thought he would take a peep and see his noble patron's library. So down he sat, without a care, in a well-stuff'd Morocco chair, and seized a book, but Morpheus shed the poppies o'er his reverent head. While fancy would not be behind, so play'd her tricks within his mind, and furnish'd a most busy dream, which syntax made his pleasant theme soon as he met my lord to dine, or rather While they took their wine. The Dream. That I was in the strand I dreamed, and o'er my head methought there seemed a flight of volumes in the air of various bindings gilt and fair. The unfolded leaves exposed to view served them as wings on which they flew. Through the mid-air they passed along in stately flight a numerous throng, and from each book a label fell, formed every author's name to tell, nor was it long before I saw, with a fond reverential awe, the celebrated bards and sages which graced the Greek and Roman ages all headed by a solemn fowl.

Which bore the semblance of an owl. "'Twas Pallas Bird who led them straight through temple-bar's expanded gate, year-books, reports, and sage-grave entries at either temple-gate stood sentries, while Viner his abridgment shows in sixty well-arm'd folios. The lamb it barred, the horse it neighed. In reverence of the cavalcade. Near Clifford's Inn appeared to stand of Cappiasis an ugly band, for when their parchment flags appeared instant the crowded street was cleared, and the procession passed along untroubled by a pressing throng. St. Dunstan's savages were mute, but still they gave their best salute. Disdaining eloquence and rhyme, they woke their bells to speak in chimes. Erskine's famed pamphlet Capperpee, with many an I and many a me, issued from Sargent's Inn and made a speech to grace the grand parade.

The stationers came forth to meet the strangers form'd in Ludgate Street. Each one upon his brawny back Bearing a large sheet almanac. For a short time the learned train stopp'd before Ave Mary Lane. That Galen might just view the college, the seat of Medicinal Knowledge. Nor did they fail a while to tarry before St. Paul's learned seminary, where Lily's grammar did rehearse Propria que maribus in verse. At Cheapside End there seemed to stand a pageant, rather huge than grand. Ream upon ream of choir stock appeared like some vast massive rock. On its firm base a figure stood, a composite of brass and wood. The months and weeks around it stand, with each a number in its hand, of Bibles, histories, and reviews, And magazines from every muse, with cover-lids of various hue, pea-green and red, and brown and blue.

The shape was clad in livery gown, the face had neither smile nor frown, while it held out a monstrous paunch, as fat with many a ham and haunch. Two printer's devils o'er his head, a crimson canvas widely spread, Whereon was writ in gilded show, Genius of Pater Noster Row. The mighty giants of Guildhall, urged by a sympathetic call, no sooner heard the clock strike one than from their stations they came down, and in cheapside they took their stand in honour of the classic band. But when they heard the clock strike two— Marched back as they were wont to do. Now as they came near the old jury, like dullness worked into a fury, a vulgar shape appeared who flew on pinions marked with one and two, and other items which denote that fourpence was well worth a groat.

It seemed to lead a numerous train who rendered further passage vain. Straight he came forward to produce a blank sheet as a flag of truce. Near him two flattering pamphlets bore standards with figures covered o'er. A gilt pence-table graced the one, the price of stocks on t'other shone. A piqued guard of valuations and interest tables took their stations, Around their leader who drew nigh to make his bold soliloquy. But ere he speaks, my proper course is, just to describe the city forces. Bill-books and cash-books formed the van, an active and a numerous clan. The journals followed them whose skill is exercised in daily drill. On either side appeared to range unpaid accounts. Bills of exchange, and files of bankers' checks, these three maneuvered as light infantry, while many a stationary book its regular position took, and choirs of blotting-paper stood to suck up any flow of blood.

The ledgers the main body form, armed to resist the coming storm whose ponderous shapes could boldly show, A steady phalanx to the foe. Discord appeared with base intent, the hostile spirit to foment, not discord that precedes the car of Mars whene'er he goes to war, but of a different rank and nation, known by the name of Litigation. Born on some foul attorney's desk, bred up to Harris and perplex, Whose appetite is for dispute, and has no wish but for a suit. She rose upon a gander's wing, and round about began to fling pleas, declarations, and each bit of parchment that would form a writ. The newspapers with pen in hand in the balconies took their stand, waiting with that impartial spirit Which all well know they all inherit, to make the hurry of the battle through the next day's columns rattle, and with one conscience to prepare the history of this paper war.

The herald now the silence broke, "'twas mighty Cocker's self that spoke, and thus to Pallas Bird's address the solemn purpose of his breast." I state my claim to ask and know from whence you come and where you go, and by what license you appear with all your foreign pagans here. Come you with all this cavalcade to insult the vehicles of trade, and our dear homebred rights invade. A mighty force awaits you here to check and punish your career, and I am ordered by my masters, who fear disturbance and disasters. To bid you quickly turn about from London streets to take your route, or we shall quickly turn you out. My name is Cocker, which is known in every counting-house in town. Nay, such my use and reputation, I'm respected through the nation.

Yes, I'm the father, I who speak of mercantile arithmetic. Source of a race that far outvies your Greek and Latin progenies. And now I hope that in a crack you'll send an humble answer back, or else expect a fierce attack. I'll count twice two, and then add four. That time I'll give, but give no more. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight. I've done, and will no longer wait.

The bird of Pallas, who could speak in English or in Attic Greek, as suited best, did not prolong his answer in the vulgar tongue. "'Twas a petition duly made by certain of your sons of trade, to beg my mistress would permit that they should buy a little wit, and here import, though in defiance of common rules, a little science." I ask not if t'was their intent to gain a name, or ten per cent, whether t'is wisdom, or misdoing, whether t'will prove their good or ruin, or the result of civic sense, or a shrewd mercantile pretense, whether t'is interest or pride that turns them from old rules aside. That urges them to tax their trade for offerings to the immortal maid? These selfsame matters, to be free, are, Mr.

Crocker, naught to me. "'Tis by Minerva's high command that I conduct this classic band. "'Tis she commands, and we obey. Nor shall you stop us on the way, whether it does or does not suit your pleasure to the Institute." We'll go, you calculating brute. Say, will your low-born volumes dare with these brave veterans to compare? What's all this bustle, all this fuss? Think you they can contend with us? They who are slaves, so base and willing of any pound and pence and shilling, as the pen gives, they're forced to drink the venal dips of any ink. And when they're filled, their lives expire, consign'd to light a kitchen fire, or sent away to such vile use as chandlers or as hucksters choose. If they oppose our stated way, we'll sweep them from the face of day.

At the same time re-wish for peace, and that your saucy threats may cease. We do not mean to mock the city with any hope of being witty. We do not bring our learned powers to vex its speculating hours, or with poetic visions cross your schemes of profit and of loss. We do not first suggest the deed to bring you books you cannot read. Meetings were formed and speeches made, and all by weighty men of trade. To frame the unforeseen request, and surely we have done our best when we each classic did provide with a translation by its side. Dryden is ready to rehearse all Virgil's works in English verse, and Grecian Homer rests his hope of being understood by Pope. Leland will give you, if you please, the speeches of Demosthenes.

While northern Guthrie will bestow the eloquence of Cicero, to Thomas Stiles and John Anokes Carr will repeat old Lucian's jokes, while Juvenal's sharp satire shines in William Gifford's rival lines. Holman and Thornton will convey right notions of a Latin play, where'er the ancient critics wrote You may now in plain English quote, and drink Pies Health when o'er the bottle, for Anglicizing Aristotle. Nay, all the ancient bards have sung, and now may sing in vulgar tongue. What could we more? So cease your riot, and let us pass along in quiet. Dismiss your counting-house parade, send off those cumbrous tomes of trade. Back to their counters let them roam, and sip their ink, and stay at home. Nor e'er again their threats oppose to Grecian and to Roman foes.

Cocker. Fools may be found, I do not doubt it, within this city as without it. This truth indeed is very clear, for they were fools who brought you here. I pray thee. Tell me what has wit to do with any plodding sit? Of wit we know not what is meant, unless tis found in cent per cent. Learning a drug has always been. No warehouse man will take it in. Should practised mercers quit their satin to look at Greek and long for Latin? Should the pert upstart merchant's boy behold the tower? And think of Troy. Or should a democratic hatter about old republics make a clatter? Should city praetors leave their tools to talk by Ciceronian rules, and at our meetings in Guildhall puzzle the mob with classic brawl?

No, to such things they've no pretense. No, let them stick to common sense. You may your ancient bards rehearse, but there's no common sense in verse. Not all the classics at your tale would weigh an ounce in reason's scale. I treat the name of Rome with scorn. Give me the commerce of leghorn. From Italy's prolific shore the wondrous science was brought o'er. The bright invention. Which convey'd such vast facilities to trade. The double entry far outvies all pictured, sculptured fantasies. And sure I am his honoured name deserves a brighter wreath of fame, to whose keen eye the scheme occurred, that e'er was won by conqueror's sword. What did the Greeks pray know of trade? Ulysses, as I have heard it say'd, was full ten-month obliged to roam before he brought his cargo home.

A voyage in that selfsame sea our coasting brigs would make in three. The institution was displayed as a mere trumpery trick of trade, decked out, tis true, with great parade, while you are coming as a bribe. To make our purse-proud sits subscribe, and aid the primary intent of dividends of ten per cent. We have our pedant tradesmen, too, who talk as if they something new and learnings-cud pretend to chew, who get cramp words and court the muse in magazines and in reviews. Yes, we have those whose priggish rage is not to read books, but Title Pages. Who spare no cost in drink and meat to furnish out in tempting treat that may attract an attic train to Mincing or to Fillpot Lane, who snatch the feast and go away to mock the patron of the day.

There are who strive to have it thought that they have minds with learning fraught, though if they have so small discerning To interrupt their trade with learning, the day will come when they'll be found with certain shillings in the pound. But to be brief, consult your fame and go back gravely as you came, or we shall send you somewhat faster, nor for your wounds afford a plaster. Look at that form which soars in air and shines like a portentous star. It is the armorial symbol bright of a renowned commercial knight who sought not a superior fame than doth befit a merchant's name. See how his ensign is unfurled o'er the emporium of the world, and does with threatening aspect view your owlish worship and your crew.

While in its motions we descry The sure presage of victory. Yes, on success I calculate as sure as four and four make eight. Thus I have clearly stated the amount, errors accepted, of my just account. THE OWL. Good Mr. Cocker, I have heard all that your wisdom has preferred. And I entreat you turn your head, in which such numbers have been bred, and see a certain wind prevail to make your grasshopper turn tail, from which my wise soothsayer draws an omen fatal to your cause. And you may hear his tongue proclaim, Your boobies will all do the same. But talking is of little use. Therefore at once I break the truce.

As critics now, when called to duel, disdainful of the common fuel, no more with shot or bullet vapor, but wound with ink and kill with paper, both sides for conflict dire prepare, and thus commence the threatened war. Euclid at Mastercocker flew, whom by one stroke he overthrew, then with a knotty problem bound him, and let him struggling where he found him. Caesar with all his Latins pounced on the light parties, whom they trounced, and soon a dreadful havoc made of bills that never would be paid, while bankers' cheques made quick retreat. And huddled into Lombard Street. With equal force the Greeks attacked and drove the heavy legions back. Ledgers and journals lay all scattered. Bill-books and cash-books were bespattered.

Short was the contest. Struck with dread, confused, the city forces fled. For aid on stationers they call, but they were busy at their hall. And this same hall their tradecraft found to be a sort of neutral ground, as they conceived the havoc made might serve the papermaking trade, to side with either they were loath, in hopes to profit from them both. The postman now his clarion blew. His blasts were vain, they would not do. The letter-books disordered flew. While Pinder from Bow Steeple Clock looked down, and as he viewed the shock, chaunted, nor did he chaunt in vain, a loud and animating strain. Forth from the bank a troop was sent, of threes and fours and five per cent, but they ran off, nor struck a blow, for stocks that day were very low, and policies remained secure, waiting for arms of signature.

For what brave spirit e'er would fight em' when nobody would underwrite em'? And now these doughy sits were beat, down every lane, up every street, but met to form each broken rank before the portals of the bank. There they a solemn council hold, whether by added strength grown bold, to a new contest they should come, or sneak away. Disbanded. Home. Thus the old classics, having beat the vulgar foe, sought Coleman Street. But as they passed a numerous host at Cooper's Hall had taken post. Two bluecoat urchins played the fife, which called them to the martial strife, when, instead of pointed darts and lances, they pelted the antiques with chances. But Fortune, who is ever blind, turned short and left her bands behind.

Their leader lost, away they steal, and hide their numbers in the wheel. At length the classic sages greet, their Parthenonion retreat. But while the echoing walls around, with Iopeans loud resound, against the vengeful foes appear'd, Again their angry standards reared. Must we once more, the ancients said, o'ercome these frantic imps of trade? Is there no power to save our race from war when conquest is disgrace? The Greeks then called on Pawson's name, the Latins echoed back the same, and straight in Grecian stole a raid. appeared the venerable shade. Homer went down upon his knees, and so did tragic Sophocles, with all the names that end in ease. Hail sacred tomes, he said, to you I grateful owed whate'er I knew.

From you I gained my mortal fame, the honours of a scholar's name. To you the immortal power I owe. To give the aid I now bestow. I come from that celestial hall, Where they all dwell who wrote you all. He spoke, and lo, a volume came Of size immense and rueful name. Its back no verbal title bore, But numerous dates of time-long awe. While on its lettered sides appears London Gazette's For fifty years. Straight to the foe, that all aloof fluttered about each neighbouring roof, it did for many a page unfold, and showed Whereas, and cried, Behold! while that same word upon the walls blazed forth in flaming capitals. Whereas! a thousand voices rung, and on the wing there upwards sprung A flight of dockets who were joined by dire certificates unsigned.

These saw the foes, and chilled with dread, trembled and shriek'd aloud, and fled.

The ghost now vanished from the view, the bird of Pallas vanished too, and then I thought the classic elves instinctive sought their proper shelves, where undisturbed each learned tome May slumber to the day of doom.

I woke, and felt a real glee at that same fancied victorie. Nor would I change my classic lore, poor as I am, for all the store which plodding anxious trade can give in constant doubt and fear to live. My treasures are all well secured. I want them not to be insured. My Greek and Latin are immured within the warehouse of my brain, and there in safety they remain. My little cargo's lodged at home, where storms and tempests never come. Learning will give an unmixed pleasure which gold can't buy and trade can't measure. But each within its destined station learnings my pride and consolation. That high-form'd inmate of the soul which, as the changing seasons roll, acquires new strength, preserves its power, and smiles in life's extremest hour.

The learned man, let who will flout him, doth always carry it about him. And should he idly fail to use it, though it may rust, he will not lose it. Fortune may leave off her caressing, but she can't rob him of that blessing. Full many a comfort money gives, but ask him who for money lives, whether he other pleasures shares than sordid joys and golden cares. How oft I've pass'd an evening hour, within a hawthorn's humble bower, and read aloud each charming line that doth in Virgil's Georgics shine. Though wealth pass'd by in stately guise, I felt no rankling envy rise, nor could the show my mind engage from the immortal poet's page. When homeward, as I used to stray along the unfrequented way, enraptured as I strolled along with Philomela's evening song, I felt what worldlings never share, oblivion of all human care.

Such hours are few, but well we know, that learning can these hours bestow.

My lord continued the debate, and time passed on in pleasant rate, till night broke up the tete-a-tete.

26 26 - Canto 26 36:21

Crowned with success the following day, the Dr. Homeward took his way. And on the morrow he again was borne by Grizzle o'er the plain. But Grizzle, having lived in clover, symptoms of spirit did discover that more than once had nearly thrown her deep-reflecting master down. Nor till they travelled 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 raised in purse as well in spirit, your master will reward your merit.' Another day they journeyed on, the next, and lo!

The work was done. 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 preferred. 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 in patient wait. Not as he passed the street along was he unnoticed by the throng. For not a head within a shop, but did through door or window pop. He kiss'd his dame, and gravely spoke. As now he brooded o'er a joke, while she to no 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 wandered far from home, and here a beggar you have 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 stayed away that the town curate you must pay. For, while from home you've played the fool, he kindly came to teach the school, and a few welcome pounds to earn by flogging boys to make them learn. And I must say, you silly elf, You merit to be flogged yourself, and I have a mind this whip shall crack upon your raw-boned lazy back.

Yes, puff away, but tis no joke for all my schemes to end in smoke. What tongue-tied booby will you say to Mrs. Dressum, 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 unobserved 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 show you half a dozen such. She started up in Joy's alarms, and clasped the doctor in her arms, then ran to bid the boys huzzah, 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 whereso'er 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 amorous play, the doctor found a time to say— The fatted calf I trust you've slain to welcome Syntax home again. No, she replied, no, fatted calf. We have a better thing by half, for with expectation big of your return we killed a pig, and a rich hazlet at the fire will give you all you can desire. The savoury meat myself will baste. And suit it to my deary's taste. That dish, he cried, I'd rather see than frickandoe or fricassee.

Oh, 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 returned to household care. The dainty supper to prepare. Who e'er has passed an idle hour in following syntax through his tour must have perceived he did not balk his fancy when he wished to talk, nay more that he was often prone to make long speeches when alone, and while he quaffed the inspiring ale between each glass to tell a tale. Or, as he smoked with half-shut eyes, now smiling and now looking wise, he'd crack a joke or moralize. And when this curious spirit stirred 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 his silence broke, and thus he thought and puff'd. And spoke. THE SMOKING SOLILOQUY That man I trow is doubly cursed, 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 veritable name. If you resist him, e'en old Nick gives up his meditative trick. Fortune condemns the whining slave, and loves to smile upon the brave. In all this selfsame checkered strife we meet within the road of life. What'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 threatening tempests lower, when thee clouds burst in pelting shower, when lightnings flash along the sky, and thunders growl in sympathy, with calmness to the scene conforms, Nor fears nor mocks the angry storms. He does not run or 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. If petty evils round you swarm, Let not there buzz your temper warm, But brush them from your mind away Like insects of a summer's day. Evil oppose with reason's power, Nor fear the dark or threatening 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 where he meets his final doom will form a trophy for his tomb. Bear and forebear, a dogma true as human wisdom ever drew. If you would lighten every care and every sorrow learned 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 the uppowering 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 doomed 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 fellows driven. Nor when that thought gay Lucian spoke, he did not mean to crack a joke.

Lucian says that when the gods make a man the object of their sportive persecutions, they turn him into a schoolmaster. Such an one as Dr. Syntax was may think that the sarcastic Greek was in the right. But the masters of Eton, Westminster, and Winchester are probably of a different opinion.

I still man's dignity maintained, and though I felt, I ne'er complained. 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. Men with superior minds endow'd may soar above 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, there the nobility of heaven. In its caprice a sovereign's power may make a noble every hour. A king may only speak the word, and some rich blockhead struts a lord. But all the sceptred 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 lump of midnight oil I gained thy smiles, though many a year fortune refused my heart to cheer, by the inspiring laurels crowned I oft could smile while fortune frowned. Beguiled by thee I oft forgot my uncombed 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 every line. To save me from domestic brawls I thundered Tully to the walls. When naught I did could Dolly please, I laughed 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 Cretius 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 practised through my life I have a witness in my wife, For though she sometimes snarl and scold, I never would a parley hold. And when she though but seldom swore, I checked the oath. But said no more, and all returning taunts forbore. I dressed my spirit 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 grieved, and I with smiles their smiles received. I ne'er retorted, like a fool, their inoffensive ridicule. So that my dolly's clothes were fine, she never cared a doit for mine. So that on every 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 accept herself, I do believe, upon my word, to all things syntax was preferred. Bear and forbear, I've thought and say'd, is part of every 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 Preben's stall and living's three, Once told me— If I kept my riches within the pockets of my britches, to make them of materials stout, or else the weight would wear them out. Oh, 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 answered from St. Paul in Greek, and bid him the quotations seek. In Pliny. When the purse-proud brute nodded assent, and then was mute. The oilman there, in that fine house who boasts the scutcheons of his spouse, soon after he had left off trade, loved some great noble lady's maid, who by my lord had been betrayed, to Hyman's fame the fair he led, and gave the claim to half his bed.

She talks of duchesses by dozens, as if they were her catechousins. He once said, Doctor, do you see? Let's hear what is your pedigree. When I with reverence due replied, I am not to the great allied. But yet I've heard my grandam say, though many a year has passed 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 Carthaginian Hannibal dined with his lordship at Guildhall, that great man being forced 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.

"'Twas 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 scouge each fool I meet, I ne'er must go into the street, I ne'er my bearded head must pop into the chattering 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 powers 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 smoked my pipe, as I do now. Hail, social tube, thou foe to care, champion 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 control 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 toothache 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, Passed in soft cadence to my ear. Calm contemplation comes with thee, And thee mild-made philosophy. Lost in the thoughts which you suggest To the full counsel of my breast, My books all slumbering on the shelf, I thus can commune with myself. Thus to myself my thoughts repeat, Thus moralize on what is great, and every selfish wish subdued 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. Let pride's loose suns prolong the night, In bacchanalian delight. I envy not their jovial noise, Their mirth and mad intemperate 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.

Me nec faline temperate vites, nec formiani per cola collis. Horace Ode 120. Neither Falnerian vines nor Formian wines flavor my cups.

Thus cheered with hopes of happier days My grateful lips declare thy praise. How oft I felt in adverse hour the comforts of thy soothing power! Nor will I now forget my friend when my foul fortune seems to end. 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 the ascending sacrifice that offered by my gratitude to the great Father of the Good. More had he spoke, but lo, the dame with the appointed Hazlitt came, when Syntax, having blessed 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 passed since we embraced each other last.

Oh, 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 showed her airs, My bonnet spoiled the woman's prayers. Your knife is blunt. Here, take the steel. Cut deep. The hazlut cannot feel. There's lawyer Graspell got a beating. As you may well suppose, for cheating. Our honest butcher trounced him well, as the attorney's bones can tell. He ordered home a rump of beef, and when it came the hungry thief, having shaved off a pound or two, returned it, for it would not do.

The fraud discovered, words arose, and they were followed soon by blows. When, as he well deserved, the sinner got a good thrashing for his dinner. Said Syntax, if I had a son. Poo! she replied, 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 sea the air 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 ere you let your collar burst, let's have the little urchin first.

The doctor thought his jolly wife ne'er looked so handsome in her life. Her voice, he thought, grown wondrous sweet, to him a most uncommon treat. So much in tune it made him long to hear it quaver in a song. Come, sing, my charmer, Syntax said, and thus the simpering dame obeyed.

Haste to Dolly, haste away, this is thine and Hymen's day. Bid her thy soft bondage wear, bid her for love's rites passion prepare. Let the nymphs with many a flower deck the sacred and nuptial bower. Thither lead the lovely fair, and let Cupid too be there. This is thine and Hyman'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 subdued, her warm embraces she renewed, 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 possess'd, no angry words, no frowns molest, No symptoms of domestic strife disturb their very altered life, for she outdressed 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 telltale dame, eclept 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, and 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 every neighbouring rural squire To send his hopeful boys to share the favor 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 wandering postman made it known, as he passed 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 stared, while ma'am, unwilling, slowly drew forth each lingering shilling. "'Neer mind your silver,' Syntax said, "'the postman, dearie, 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. Sir, our vicar's dead, and I have named you in his stead. I often wish his neck he'd break or tumble drunk into the lake, but you must know the poaching hound fulfilled one wish for his drowned. Unfit for preaching or for praying, his merit lay in cudgel-playing, and he preferr'd to saying prayers, the laying spring is for the hares.

You will perceive I keep my word, and to this church you're now preferr'd. By every legal act and deed, to parson harebrain 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, John Worthy. The dame exclaimed, 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. "'Oh, the fun! Why, Dolly, you have made a pun! But still a pun I do detest. "'Tis such a paltry, humbug jest. They've 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 resigned. They both rejoiced 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 trudged beside the traveling cart that bore the doctor's books and chattels with madame'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 Ralfo went. The doctor walked about to tell the day when he should say farewell. And they who had disdained before to pass the threshold of his door, when Syntax gave his farewell treat, sought that same door to drink and eat. The neighbors now who never yet knew his great worth, his loss regret. While Madame, on whom no good word had been throughout the town preferred, was now a most delightful creature. Of temper mild and winning feature. The ringers, who for many a year refused 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 journeyed on their way they did not fail to pass a day at Oxford with his early friend.

The kind and learned Dickie 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 formed the party For a whole week of Squire Hearty. A few days more, and lo, the lake Did the enraptured vision break. When, rising mid the tufted trees, Syntax his sacred structure sees, Whose tower appeared in ancient pride, With the warm vicarage 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 bowed. "'Welcome,' he said, "'to Summer Den.' The clerk stood by and cried, "'Amen!' Grizzle dashed 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 huzzard, The bonfire was in order laid, The villagers their zeal display, and ale and crackers close the day. Syntax, whom all desired to please, enjoyed 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 show 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.

End of Canto XXVI and End of The Tour of Dr.

queue_music Chapters 26