'I think it's on the cards
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.
That's me!—Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.'
Then a knowing 'un looked wise—
Begged to apologise;
But might he ask what temp'rature 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:
I'd scorn a subterfuge,'
Said plain Josephus Riley, from the North Countree.
