Dinner with Ben Franklin on Friday night 
The invitation read 
Of course I wrote and thanked him 
I wouldn't miss it for the world I said 
His table is so well kept 

He plays the glass harmonica 
And talks of wind and kites 
The habits of the court of France 
And other strange delights 
Of course I've heard it all before 
On other wintry nights 
And yet there is no better wine or conversation 

The English call it claret 
And clear and red it sits inside my glass 
Sent to us from Paris 
A greater kindness never came to pass 
We'll drink his health, with the last 

He plays the glass harmonica 
And talks of wind and kites 
Of almanacs and spectacles 
And other strange delights 
Of course I've heard it all before 
On other wintry nights 
And yet there is no better wine or conversation 

Time goes by in stories 
Wine goes by, dark and young 
When it comes my turn here 
I'll be telling one with a purple tongue 

The night grows philosophic 
I miss a word or two, it must be said 
As I hear them talking 
I sink a little deeper in my chair 
Thanking the fates that brought me here 

He plays the glass harmonica 
And talks of wind and kites 
Of lightening and odometers 
And other strange delights 
Of course I've heard it all before 
On other wintry nights 
And yet there is no better wine or conversation