Ben Franklin was a Jester of the sort

That fused, with wit, rare wisdom in retort;

And, on his mettle, tempered by a smile

His irony could hold them all awhile.

King Louis' Court to impotence made plea

Before the onslaughts of his repartee.

His well-aimed jibes were quite as hard to dodge

As meteors agleam with persiflage.

His oily tongue worked on a swinging swivel,

For he spat out his thoughts and didn't drivel.

The Quakers, in his absence, had attacks

Of blues, because they missed his almanacs;

And Frenchmen soon began to understand

And praise his jokes (in England contraband).

He said to Louis, "Sire, the skies are down;

I wouldn't give a Fillip for your crown."

And added, "Nay, I wouldn't give a sou!

There's just one Philip, but sixteen of you!"

He had no fear, you see, of raining Kings,

And, with umbrella raised, enjoyed his flings.

Such pointed puns disfavor oft beget,

But Louis laughed and so did Lafayette.

Tho galley slave, like creatures of his type,

He broke his chains, when Freedom's plans were ripe,

And put the U. S. A. upon the chart,

Allied to France, thru diplomatic art.