When I am gone to join the dead,

I only hope it will be said

That I was quick if but with tongue

And from each word I too much wrung

A meaning lost or malaprop

If by the speaker a hint did drop

About something that was not said

But close enough to turn them red.

With words did play and contradiction

To turn your fact into my fiction,

And from one end of what you spoke

Would I reword to make the joke.

But whether you bethought it funny

Or at most insipid pun, I

Cared not truly if you laughed

Nor bothered if you thought me daft

But smiling delved at my own leisure

For another verbal treasure

But when I’m gone, and games have ended,

Please check with those I have offended,

For as it seems to be my lot,

I was much more than likely shot.