Classic Poem

Here lies a Man now, who, when living,
Ne'er tir'd himself too much with giving;
And when he found himself a-dying,
To hold the Humour, fell a-crying.
Dear Wife, quoth he, I'm now a-going,
Be sure, you never pay what's owing.
It grieves me much, that I must pay
The Debt I owe my Mother Clay.