The poem
Franklin fathered bastards fourteen, (So I read in the New Yorker); If it's true, in terms of courtin' Benny must have been a corker. To be prudent I've aspired, And my passions I have mastered; So that I have never sired A single bastard.
One of course can never know; But I think that if I had It would give me quite a glow When a kiddie called me 'Dad.' Watching toddlers at their play, Parentage I'd gladly claim, But their mothers smiling say: 'You're not to blame.'
Ben founded the Satevepost, And for that I much respect him; But fourteen is quite a host Paternally to elect him. 'Fatherhood is not a crime,' Deemed fat Ben, 'there could be others . . . Darlings, I had not the time To wed your mothers.'