Classic Poem

My father's policy is wide,
He manages the selfish town,
Vindictive, placid is his pride,
He has the pride of pulling down;
My dull Lords Penn, King George, the clouds,—
I've seen him draw them from their height;
His gainful wisdom tickles crowds,
His lever is his paper kite.

I know my mother's humble place;
A vassal ship she came upon,
The pilgrim mother of his race;
I am his German leman's son,
To him, to her, I owe the span
Of life's delightful ecstacy,
Yet when he talks the Rights of Man
I feel a bastard's injury.

Docile to him in filial fear,
Born to his foot, like Mercury's wing,
Obedience gave me a career,
I rose above him with his king;
His conscience pricked him at my height,
My subjects might his virtue mock:
As when a boy I flew his kite
And down the cord he felt the shock.

England than Franklin more humane
Raised me to honor's pedigree,
A lady by my rank was lain
And took my spurious son with me;
His grandsire's tact my offspring won—
I kept my oath and wrecked my house—
The Revolution took my son,
I wail a broken-hearted spouse!

Isaac beneath his father's knife
Was not more still than I obey,
Honoring him who gave me life
And all that bless'd it lured away:
My native land for which I fought,
The love domestic that endears.
God spare me thy rewarding thought,
I must live long as father's years!