The poem
Full well I trow that when I die Down drops the curtain; Another show is all my eye And Betty Martin. I know the score, and with a smile Of rueful rating, I reckon I am not worth while Perpetuating.
I hope that God,--if God there be Of love and glory, Will let me off Eternity, And end my story. Will count me just a worn-out bit Of human matter, Who's done his job or bungled it, --More like the latter.
I did not beg for mortal breath, Plus hell or Heaven; So let the last pay-off be death, And call it even. To Nature I will pay my debt With stoic laughter: But spare me, God, your awful threat Of Life Here-after!