William Combe

The Tour of Doctor Syntax, in Search of the Picturesque, a Poem William Combe

This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1865. Excerpt: ... CANTO III. By the road side, within the wood, In this sad state poor Syntax stood; His bosom heaved with many a sigh, And the tears stood 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 an 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 may stay, 'Tis such an unfrequented way: Though what with hunger, thirst and fright, 1 ne'er shall last throughout the night; And could I e'en these ills survive, The tiies 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 woul...