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For there's no emptier thing than I,
Which off is thrown, when in the ring But then you shun my company.
She enters with a wondrous fling; Sometimes with noise I roar and rave, And what you'll think most strange to be, Am sometimes silent as the grave.
We have no joint, we bend no knee, I'm kept by rich, I keep the poor,
Tho' few can move so fast as we. And ne'er was turned from any door
Now, turn me round-put tail before My goods oft pawn'd, and money spent
The head-I may have legs, even four, 'Tis hard, indeed, to pay my rent.
Or three; two seldom, often none,
I sometimes have an arm, a long one,
Which for defence needs be a strong one; I am where gold and jewels shine;
For I'm much given to heats and broils; Tho' I have eyes oft lovers gaze at,
And then the blood within me boils ; Yet the bright sun so shoots his rays at, I spare no bones, and well can batter, I'm blinded, and see nought that passes, And woe to those whom I bespatter; Tho' not without the use of glasses.
Yet oft I'm cool provokingly, Sometimes so mean, I've scarce a rag- And show some tact for irony. Now so superb, I'm fashion's brag.
So, friend, beware lest you be diddled, I shine by day, but more by night,
I am not fond of being riddled; And shut my eyes to let in light
And one of my sure diagnostics Now turn me round, I'm darken'd quite. Is looking black upon acrostics.
- A man, and not a man-my birth, Primeval, and, like his, of earth;
27. My wide domain small profit yields, My best revenues are my fields.
Nor thing, nor person, I strut the stage with jealous scowl ;
You kill me to converse on,
1 I brave the tempests as they howl;
In secretest places, Am much less given to fair than fowl...)
I live with the sages And when in moody fits I toss me,
For ages, and ages, How few there are who love to cross me!
Their dust my subsistence
Yet such my strange case is,
My life, the strange spell of,
That even but to tell of,
It costs my existence.
To my first it is owing, that excellent thing,
“ The Roast Beef of Old England," we con26.
stantly sing; We are three cousins strangely born, My second oft dangers presents, which to And form'd as if in Nature's scorn,
pass And in fantastical caprice,
Would puzzle the wisest much more than For we have but one leg a-piece. Tho' one of us has scarce a leg,
But my whole shows a goal, better reach'd One nothing better than a peg.
by the slow, The third's is less a leg than toe,
For, if you are fast, you will find it no go. And not to stand on-but to go; Just like a founder'd horse a-skipping
29. A most unslackened pace by whipping. One only has a voice--a sound
Two words I am, which don't unite Like hollow muttering underground,
Except to make this riddle right; Between a whistling and a drumming,
My first is what the lawyers write And thus her tune is always humming,
To head a case, a suit, a plea; Better her dancing time to keep,
My second's loud, prepares for fight,
A broken head too oft his fee.
This killed by verdict soon as spoken; All equally alike in figure
That with as little satisfaction One tapering, one in body bigger;
Is silenced when his head is broken. One, before action, tightly laced,
Read backward, and you will not doubt, Even with a cord about the waist,
Riddles, and murder, too,“ will out."
SOLUTIONS OF THE RIDDLES.
In level see the letter v,
(Numerical the riddle); But engineers their level make
For though five letters make the name, Oft on the highest station,
You find five in the middle.
Turned round, still level level is,
Like thunder first, announced by flashes, But head and tail dissever,
One kills by frowns, one kills thro' lashes; That little less will stand for eve,
And yet they do so surely pair,
They suit each other to a hair.
Without one ?-like-why let us see!
Its eyes like jewels badly set, Lore laughs at locksmiths, it is said,
A house without a parapet, But wedlock, man's strong bond and wo
A window without architrave, man's,
The sea without a curling waveThere's nothing less than Death can break, The finest features, lacking eyebrow, Or House of Lords and Doctors' Commons.
Would not be worth a single flyblow; Your comb of shell, of tortoise made,
Beauty herself, without its aid That breaks Aurelia's locks apart,
To lend the modesty of shade, Is envied, when it breaks, to weave
No better than a barefaced jade. A share to catch the gazer's heart,
Two letters, H and E, denote
The man as plainly as his coat; Good sir, your riddle means a map,
Five letters show him by his Heart, Projected by Mercator,
And their three last his wit in Art. With geographic circles drawn,
Your five last letters Earth we find,
Which doth the sea in fetters bind,
And you are quite at home in Hearth.
And Hearth implies a grate above, In thought and act, a map, sir.
To warm your friendship and your love, To get a look from Captain Cook,
And keep both from that “coldness hateful,” Was that a map might boast of,
Giving a grate to make you grateful; On which, when he discovered land,
And thus your riddle I unfold,
In all six letters, truly told.
What is much older than the Sun A face is not improved by lines
Would puzzle man to sayEngraved by Age's meter,
He makes the present moment new But Age and Age's lines improve,
Because he rules the Day. And make a map completer,
'Tis he makes day-by his degrees A map survives a cat's nine lives,
To be both short and long; However clearly martyred,
And tho' he moves not, seems to run Is bound, and hanged, and then cut down,
His course as giant strong. And ever drawn and quartered.
'Tis thus we say, the sun shall rise A map of lands, to have and hold,
And never sit, but set; Has made full many a match, sir,
That day flies very fast indeed, Where Lore has seen the couple in,
Is every day's regret. Then lifted up the lateh, sir.
The sun was ne'er described with feet, Reverse the word, play well your cards,
Yet once was seen to stand; You have a potent knave, sir;
And then the glorious day was won Yet when you bid him civil be,
By Joshua's chosen band. He knows how to behave, sir.
The first and second-Sun and dayYou tell, by names, his brother knaves,
Together joined, present The P from Pam you sever,
Sunday, your comfort or your sin, Which makes subscription mine; I am,
According as 'tis spent. Believe me, sir, yours ever.
Your first is Plea, a beggar knave It were a folly to deny
In city and at court, A speculation in the eye,
True-false— 'tis at the Chancery bar And 'tis as clear an eye can speak
The lawyer's special sport. In language sure as Sappho's Greek;
But it is not in courts of law
A plea is ever sure,
Or can the whole secure.
But when a plea is softest heard 'Mong gods and men to play the deuce.
In whisper or a sigh, Thus eye and brow, tho seeming two,
Or in a look-oh! then 'tis sure, United execution do.
And Pleasure must be nigh.
There's many a plea made out of time,
All length it reaches-seldom still; And thus we often see
And though a point on mountain tops The silly lover makes too sure
Into the deepest valleys drops, Before he makes his plea.
And spreads the curtain of the hills. But these two words, when well combined The silent shadow 'midst the roar Both as to time and measure,
Of cannon flies from shore to shore, Will seldom fail to gain their end
Follows the smoke its pall to spread
Over the dying and the dead;
Shows every head, but not one heart, 8.
No substance having, falsely view'd Oh happiest theme for Grub Street bards;
With loss of substance oft pursued, O little worm, to thee 'tis owing
Yet never grasped—so small, the shell That beauty walks in silk array,
Of hazel-nut might hold it well; But 'tis thy skill and splendour showing.
So large, by mightiest hand 'tis hurled When Thomas takes fair Ann to church,
Beyond the confines of the world.
Your first alone would give no guide Wilt thou be follow'd to the minster,
The word's veiled meaning to divine; For 'tis thy fate to furnish brides
For what fair lady could decide And be thyself a noted spinster.
That such would be the effect of wine? The next affords a better clue,
To female hearts is more akin, 9.
Maternal love, both strong and true, The Sea is crossd all o'er and o'er by help of Will ever fondly bless a twin. needle fine,
To arts and arms, to toil and skill, The yellow, red, and black, and white-and Too true, it is not always in ere you cross the line
The power of those who have the skill You see its waters blue and green. - The Success in their pursuit to win. second is a Son,
But now its parts restore, behold, Which all men are of woman born-yet so
The word 's full sense will clearly shine, unborn was one, For Adam was ere woman was;—thus every
Although the vaunt is somewhat bold,
Round maiden's heart so sure to twine. man on earth, Beggar and king, a mother had to whom he owed his birth.
13. Join Sea and Son-you Season make, which varies everywhere,
What bolder, louder than a gun? As climate or as weather makes, and is or
Change u to i-beware—oh, shun foul or fair;
That sly soft path -and see therein 'Tis hot, 'tis cold, 'tis wet, 'tis dry, fish, flesh,
The metamorphosis to gin. fowl, love, and treason,
Spring, gun, and gin, are sometimes one; Even prose and rhyme are sometimes in
You're caught by gin, and shot by gun; and sometimes out of Season.
Yet gun and gin, in general view,
For gun goes off, if there be danger10.
But gin is not so wide a ranger, See Petrarch's sonnet ere you solve this
But close and secret lurks, for such is riddle.
His art to catch you in his clutches. Two letters from beginning, end, and middle,
This riddle may a trap imply, Ta'en from Verona -Ve-Ro-Na-denote
Which may not at first reading strike. Three famous cities; but I rather quote
That as the letters--You and I To pass Verona's fame from age to age
Whate'er we seem, are not alike; Those her “Two Gentlemen " for every
Small difference in our moral sight stage,
Makes right seem wrong, and wrong seem Above all'heroes as Verona's stay,
right. Who make the title of our Shakespeare's play.
Is not a glove handsome, and ought it not
to be matched? for it is one, and should be a Both sun and moon a shadow make, pair. It has the offer of every lady's hand; Which does of neither nature take;
and has it not received all the love-letters, For darkest 'tis, the nearest light
L. O. V. E.? and yet one letter too many, And moon-made shadows oft affright. G., overpowers the proper emphasis of love. But shadow might be thought begun So that as glove, it is doubtless off and on with When yet was neither moon nor sun. many. Is no bride itself, but cast off at the Akin to chaos--newly born
altar at the moment of to have and to hold. 'Tis biggest--at mid-day 'tis shorn; No priest will put on a ring over a glove. Longest at evening, as in the morn As a glove, all desire to see it matched; yet
as long as it is a glove it must be single, And Fashions' purtenance is French, though so many hold out their arms to A ground on which none dare to trench. receive it.
The real judgment 'tis of Paris, 15.
For which to fight, as if pro aris
For should an English dame profess Remove the letter s from space,
To be of taste the arbitressYou find the measure of a pace;
The fatal issue's beyond tellingThen banish p, you have the ace.
They'd put a bonnet on some Helen, Within a palm is space confined,
A casus belli shout with joy, And is unlimited as mind.
And act another siege of Troy. Of all the suits within the pack,
Would Pluto ere have been consenting Whether they be the red or black,
To quit the pleasure of tormenting, By far most potent is the Ace,
And keeping satisfactory eye on The sovereign stamp is on his face.
Th'eternal treadmill of Ixion, Whatever honours Others claim,
For Ceres' daughter up in Enna, He is the very trump of fame;
With a complexion brown as senna ? Highest or lowest, all he braves,
Which surely must have been the case Kings, queens, and baffles e'en the knaves.
Without protection to her face; As lowest cut, new strength reveals,
Tho' very certain without this And takes precedence in the deals;
She had not caught the heart of Dis. In life, as cards, the game is won,
She gather'd flowers, and why ?—with art By taking care of number one.
To make her bonnet look more smart, But your Etcæteras to answer,
For nicest ladies in those days Although most easily I can, sir,
Were not o'erburthen'd much with stays, And notice all their nice conditions,
Nor kerchiefs whereunto to pin, Would be but idle repetitions.
Or vests to keep a floweret in. Suffice, though I shall not recite 'em,
But not to mar with low conclusion That space is found in every item,
The grand historical allusion,
Nor hurt in bonnet's own behoof
This dignity of classic proof,
Worthy a fourteen power of sonnet,
All meaner thoughts must stand aloof
-Good sir-your riddle means a Bonnet. Making mourning sorrow.
Let nothing more be said upon it,
But this-let French or English pin it,
We bless all heads that are within it.
A shoe and string denote the thing
You wish me to discover,
For either are as given to pair,
As mistress and a lover.
For use and show the string's a beau, 17.
And both so tied together, All peoples, languages, and nations,
For wear and tear, for foul and fair, Of whatsoe'er pronunciations,
As up and under leather. Far as north, south, east, west, can reach, Both are undone, since both make one, Sound a, the letter in their speech.
If once the tie be brokenAlike the savage and polite,
Shoe sued in fright, of such a plight
To Buckle the fair-spoken.
String saw their plans, forbad the banns,
Then tied his knot so clever Adam prefixed it to the name
"Twixt him and shoe-henceforth the two Of creatures all that to him came;
United are for ever.
Long may they reign, a happy train,
Each to the other fittedAs 'twas by Zeno in his stoa;
And by the foot, the rival boot And if days were when it was not,
Like Buckle be outwitted. It must have been the days of NoÄh.
- 20. 18. Of Bourbon the last syllable,
A thing must be something; To net united, rightly spell,
It may be a bum thingA bonnet is the thing new made,
A sham or a dumb thing, And without millinery aid
Such as are many things. It little boots-say, how, or where
Put no before it, A net is cast in sea, or air ?
It bids you ignore it; It catches game, preserves your peaches;
To nothing restore it, A bonnet is, as fashion teaches
And nothing can't make anything. VOL. LXXVI.—NO. CCCCLXV.
But nothing must be
Ill-furnish'd garrets often fit,
The upper storey of a wit,
Both empty, noticed oft to quit.
Rooms silent are from wall to floor, For nothing and something
Or set the tables in a roar.
In modern phrase you may have learn'd,
A House is out of windows turn’d,
Whether a rich man's or a poor's,
A sick room, left with scarce a shred,
Is better, if it keeps its bed.
How sad the Room where misery lies,
How gorgeous where the rich man dies-
Where jewels shine in nightly blaze,
Where lovers up to windows gaze ;
Where in despite some day-blind covers Making thee more than man,
The scrutinies of sun and lovers,
Giving their good look-out chagrin,
By not allowing looking in;
And tho' it furnish'd be with glasses,
For windows are but eyes disposed
To let in the most light when closed.
By him be riddled into dust.
Your riddles, with his spade in hand,
Ding-dong will have the upper hand. The letter I if you pursue,
Now turn your room about-both sound You'll thank your stars it is not U;
And letters. How enlarged the bound, 'Twas not in Eve, but in her guilt,
For room, as Coleman says, read back, In Cain-not him whose blood he spilt; “ Like every other moor is black." 'Tis not in heaven or in earth,
If Earth, it little profit yields In sin coeval with its birth;
Except the rental of Moorfields. 'Tis not in man nor angel found,
The Moor Othello's jealous rage
Is often acted on the stage.
Fair weather on the moorland's breast,
Yet sportsmen rather love moorfowl, But to its sense I must demur;
But when the wintry tempests howl Maid, wife, and widow, are terms all
Along the moor and snow-drifts toss it,
There may be danger if you cross it.
Three epithets belong to top, And which you say is found in no man,
Which for generic term we drop; Is absent equally in woman.
The peg, the whipping, and the humming,
With each its proper place to come in.
The huming top in nurseries reigns,
The whipping in by-courts and lanes; Although in language very glib;
The manly peg all these disdains, For woman was but Adam's rib,
And with his challenges is found
Within the schoolboy's proper ground.
Thus far in unpoetic diction
The topographical description.---
The schoolboy given up to play,
Not thinking that, to serve good stead,
The better top should be the head ; You'd be a wondrous Architect,
Tasks learnt, from memory slipt, Could you an edifice erect,
Are top's revenge by bottom whipt. As cheaply as your Room you make
Reverse the top-you go to pot, By riddling lines for Fancy's sake,
Its irony-cool fits and hot ; And outdo Milton with your chime,
It boils and broils, and stews and fries, And“ build" a "lofty" room, not“ rhyme.” Its uses, ends, and properties,