He threw himself into a chair,
While each at each began to stare;
When, from a corner of the room,
A milder voice appear'd to come,
And, without prefatory art,
Was heard opinions to impart
Which as he spoke them, did not fail
O'er the loud rancour to prevail.

"Gem'men,

"I cannot but refuse

My honest vote to your abuse;
And had I thought it was your plan
Thus to foul-mouth a Gentleman,
(And such he is, I'll boldly say,
By all he has propos'd to-day)

I would have stay'd and minded home,
Nor to this boist'rous Meeting come!
You could not give a harder banging
To one whose deeds had call'd for hanging.
What I've to say there's no denying—
Nor will I please you now by lying.
For no short time, you all can tell,
We each charg'd high and he paid well;
Nay, now that he is gone to pot
He gives us all that he has got,
And with a pittance is content
To take him to the Continent :
Nor by sly tricks does he deceive ye
But gives you all that he can give you ;
And, if again of wealth possest,
I doubt not but he'll pay the rest;
Now he who does the best he can,
I'm certain he's a Gentleman.
For me, whate'er may be your will,
I'll take his terms and trust him still;

And my best judgement recommends friends."

The same right conduct to my
Much more the lib'ral tradesman said
And still continued to persuade
With arguments that bore the test
From that known power call'd Interest,
Which, by degrees, becalm'd the riot,
And clos'd the scene in gen'ral quiet.
Thus, grumb'ling o'er, with parting glass,
The settling hour was seen to pass,
And soon dismiss'd our Freeborn home
To meditate on times to come,
With the first pleasure man can know,
Of doing what he ought to do.

Whether it was his ready way,
As we know not, we cannot say—
But as he saunter'd through a court,
A passage of no small resort,

Well known to Lawyer's daily tread,
As to the King's-Bench Walks it led,
A Placard of no common size
Compell'd the gaze of passing eyes:
When, as he read, he saw it bore
The well-known name he whilom bore,
While there was forc'd upon his view
The Rev'rend DOCTOR SYNTAX too;
Nay, as he thought, it seem'd to be
A Brief of his own History:
Nor was it sure an idle whim
To think that it belong'd to him.
The Advertisement did address,
In all the pomp of printing press,
Th' important loss which was sustain'd
And the reward that might be gain'd

By those who should the loss restore
To those who did th' event deplore.
Then o'er and o'er he read the paper
That set his spirits in a caper;
For when he trac'd the pedigree,
He whisper'd to himself "Tis ME."
Nor do I from the hope refrain,
Nor do I think I boast in vain,-
QUE GENUS is Himself again!"

But here it may become the verse, The Placard's purpose to rehearse,

This ADVERTISEMENT courts regard To full FIVE HUNDRED POUNDS reward.

Upwards of TWENTY YEARS ago,
Or more or less it may be So,
Some one had ventur'd to expose
In clean and decent swaddling clothes,
An INFANT, laid before the door
Mark'd number THREE in number four,
Of Chambers which distinction claim,
And Paper Buildings is their name :
Now any one who can but give
Assurance that He still doth live,
The above reward will then receive.
QUE GENUS is the Foundling's name,
Which, if alive, he best can claim,
For now at least it is not known
That he can any other own.
The kind Protector of his Birth
Was a Divine of highest worth-
Who held preferment in the North-

SYNTAX was his much-honour'd name,
Nor is he now unknown to Fame.
But time has long since laid his head
On his last low and silent bed;
And search has hitherto been vain,
The Foundling's present state to gain.
A Laundress now is still alive
Who can some information give,
And BETTY BROOM is the known name
Of the communicating Dame

To whose kind care deliver'd first,
The Babe was given to be nurs'd.
Th' exposure she can well display
As if it were but yesterday,
But further knowledge is requir'd
And what events may have conspir'd
To shape his Life-If he should live,
'Tis what this paper asks to give.
Who has such tidings and will tell 'em,
With all due proofs, to Mr. VELLUM,
Or sent by Post to his abode,

Near Shoreditch Church in Hackney Road,
Will the remuneration prove

That's fully stated as above."

Again he read the paper o'er,
Resolv'd its purport to explore,
And strait to Number THREE repairs
When hobbling down the ancient stairs,
He met the Matron whom he sought,
And told his story as he ought,
A rapid sketch-nor did it fail
To be an interesting Tale :

Which when she heard, against the wall

The broom she held was seen to fall,

And scarce her old arms could prevail
To bear the burthen of her pail.
Her glasses then she sought to place
On the Proboscis of her face;
Not that a likeness she should see
"Tween riper years and infancy.
But now her heart began to melt
At Recollections that she felt,

And thus she wish'd to tell them o'er,
As she had often done before.

"What, though so many years are gone,
And you to man's estate are grown,
Since I, in all its infant charms,
Dandled the Foundling in my arms,
Were I but certain it was you,
Yes I would hug—and kiss you too.'
-But though he vow'd and did exclaim
He was the very—very same;
And though he put forth ev'ry grace
With which his words could gild his face,
He could not gain a kind embrace;
Though twenty-five don't often sue
To claim a kiss from sixty-two:
But some suspicions had possess'd
The avenues to Betty's breast;
For she liv'd where her open ear
Was practis'd ev'ry day to hear
Of art array'd in fairest guise
And truth o'erthrown by artifice.
Thus what could the old Matron do?
She fear'd him false, and wish'd him true :
Then turn'd him round, but look'd aghast,
As at his back her eye she cast;
When she thus spoke, and heav'd a sigh,
"I hope it is not treachery!