Josephus Riley

The rum was rich and rare,     There were wagers in the air,     The atmosphere was rosy, and the tongues were wagging free;     But one was in the revel     Whose occiput was level     Plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     The conversations flow     Was not devoid of blow,     And neither was it wanting in the plain, colloquial D.     With a most ingenuous smile     This here is not my style,     Said plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     And I wouldnt be averse     To emptying my purse,     And laying some small wager with the present companee,     To cut the matter short     Foot racing is my forte,     Said plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     I think its on the cards     That I can run three hundred yards     (The match to be decided where you gentlemen agree)     Against your fleetest horse;     The race would prove a source     Of pleasure, said Josephus, from the North Countree.     To equalise the task,     This little start I ask     The rider, ere he follows, must imbibe a cup of tea;     A simple breakfast-cup     He will have to swallow up.     Thats me Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     Then a knowing un looked wise,     Begged to apologise;     But might he ask what temprature the liquid was to be!     Would it come from out the pot     Milkless, steaming, boiling-hot?     Oh, not at all, said Riley, from the North Countree.     Allow me to explain;     I do observe with pain,     This jocular reflection on my native honestee,     My bump of truth is huge,     Id scorn a subterfuge     Said plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     Before the parties start     Ill take the Judge apart     To prove, by tasting, whether I have tampered with     And I beg to state again     Your suspicions give me pain,     Said plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     Then they were all satisfied     That the match was boneefied,     The bond was signed, and Riley went to preparate the tea;     But his slow, ambiguous smile     Would have seemed to token guile     In any man but Riley, from the North Countree.     He brought the fatal cup     By its saucer covered up     The Judge examined its contents with awful gravitee,     Then read the papers oer,     But could not find a flaw:     Wade in! Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     Then the wagerer just bowed,     And, passing through the crowd,     He handed up the beverage unto the wageree;     And off across the flat,     Springing gaily, pit-a-pat,     Went plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     But behind him what a yell     Of execration fell     From lips that lent themselves to shapes of great profanitee!     For the people of that town     Were done a lovely brown     By plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.     And heres the reason why:     The tea was simply DRY,     You might eat it, but to drink it was impossibilitee;     But, curious to state,     Men did not appreciate     This humrous innovation from the North Countree.     Youll understand, of course,     That wager was a source     Of very little profit to the hapless wageree,     And, dating from that day,     I much regret to say,     Men look askance at Riley, from the North Countree.