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'm sometimes sick, with scarce a shred; But never, as I reckon, one ;
But better if I keep my bed.

I sometimes have an arm, a long one,
Oft where I am, the wretched pine,

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;

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, 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,
My first, it is of either sex,

That even but to tell of,
My second's quite the ton-

It costs my existence.
My whole's a man,
Whose shortest span

An infant's is—ding, dong.

To my first it is owing, that excellent thing, “ The Roast Beef of Old England," we con

stantly sing; We are three cousins strangely born, My second oft dangers presents, which to And form'd as if in Nature's scorn,

pags And in fantastical caprice,

Would puzzle the wisest much more than For we have but one leg &-piece.

the ass; 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-& 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,
Then drones and whirls herself to sleep,

A broken head too oft his fee.
Till lost her breath, with staggering pace, Thus both are given to lead to action;
She swerves and falls upon her face.

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."



Who finds his level falls below

His own good estimation, But engineers their level make

Oft on the highest station.

In level see the letter v,

(Numerical the riddle); For though five letters make the name,

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,
A little more for ever.

They suit each other to a hair.
The eye-brow-what would beauty be
Without one ?-like-why let us see!

Its eyes like jewels badly set,
Love 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

To lend the modesty of shade, That breaks Aurelia's locks apart,

No better than a barefaced jade.) Is envied, when it breaks, to weave

A snare to catch the gazer's heart,

Two letters, H and E, denote
The man as plainly as his coat;
Five letters show him by his Heart,
And their three last his wit in Art.
Your five last letters Earth we find,
Which doth the sea in fetters bind,
Then add the letter H to Earth,
And you are quite at home in Hearth.
And Hearth implies a grate above,
To warm your friendship and your love,
And keep both from that “ coldness bateful,”
Giving a grate to make you grateful;
And thus your riddle I unfold,
In all six letters, truly told.

Good sir, your riddle means a map,

Projected by Mercator,
With geographic circles drawn,

Gradating from th' equator.
When Captain Cook sailed round the world,

To save him from mishap, sir,
No doubt he took, crossed o'er and o'er,

In thought and act, a map, sir.
To get a look from Captain Cook,

Was that a map might boast of, On which, when he discovered land,

He noted down the coast of.
You lay a siege-and by your map

Know every strong redoubt, sir;
You spring a mine, and might blow up

Yourself and men without, sir.
A face is not improved by lines

Engraved by Age's meter,
But Age and Age's lines improve,

And make a map completer.
A map survives a cat's nine lives,

However clearly martyred,
Is bound, and hanged, and then cut down,

And ever drawn and quartered.
A map of lands, to have and hold,

Has made full many a match, sir,
Where Love has seen the couple in,

Then lifted up the latch, sir.
Reverse the word, play well your cards,

You have a potent knave, sir;
Yet when you bid him civil be,

He knows how to behave, sir.
You tell, by names, his brother knaves,

The P from Pam you sever,
Which makes subscription mine; I am,

Believe me, sir, yours ever.

What is much older than the Sun

Would puzzle man to say-
He makes the present moment new

Because he rules the Day.
'Tis he makes day—by his degrees

To be both short and long:
And tho’he moves not, seems to run

His course as giant strong.
'Tis thus we say, the sun shall rise

And never sit, but set;
That day flies very fast indeed,

Is every day's regret.
The sun was ne'er described with feet,

Yet once was seen to stand;
And then the glorious day was won

By Joshua's chosen band.
The first and second-Sun and day-

Together joined, present
Sunday, your comfort or your sin,

According as 'tis spent

It were a folly to deny
A speculation in the eye,
And 'tis as clear an eye can speak
In language sure as Sappho's Greek;
Yet, tho'it speaks, is mostly under
A brow that looks, if speaks not thunder;
Such brow as Homer gave to Zeus
When he was pleas'd, as was his use,
'Mong gods and men to play the deuce.)
Thus eye and brow, tho' seeming two,
United execution do.

Your first is Plea, a beggar knave

In city and at court,
True-false-- tis at the Chancery bar

The lawyer's special sport.
But it is not in courts of law

A plea is ever sure,
Which sure your riddle's second is-

Or can the whole secure.
But when a plea is softest heard

In whisper or a sigh,
Or in a look-oh! then 'tis sure,

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
And solve your riddle Pleasure.

Over the dying and the dead;
Before, behind, it takes its part,
Shows every head, but not one heart,

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,
And vows he never will forsake her,
Silk-worm, for thee is all the gaze,

For thou hast been the mantua-maker.
But if the bridal's thine, no bride

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,

Maternal love, both strong and true, The Sea is cross'd 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, Which all men are of woman born-yet so

But now its parts restore, behold,

The word 's full sense will clearly shine, unborn was one,

Although the vaunt is somewhat bold, For Adam was ere woman was;—thus every Round maiden's heart so sure to twine.

man on earth, Beggar and king, a mother had to whom he

owed his birth. 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 aly 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,
Two ways of doing work pursue.

For gun goes off, if there be danger-

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.

14. 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 telling Then banish p, you have the ace.

They'd put a bonnet on some Helen, W ithin 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,
Fairest is the morning dawn,

Worthy a fourteen power of sonnet,
Fair will be its morrow;

All meaner thoughts must stand aloof Interfere not fatal U,

-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,
U enchantress-roseate tints,

We bless all heads that are within it.
Can you never spare them ?
Bidding bridal flowers be weeds,
Weeping widows wear them.

U depart-how sweet a dew
Paints the dawn's adorning;

A shoe and string denote the thing
Saddening weeds are bridal flowers,

You wish me to discover,
Mourning is bright morning,

For either are as given to pair,

As mistress and a lover.
For use and show the string's a beau,

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 In this at least agreeing quite,

To Buckle the fair-spoken, A surely stood in front of Adam

String saw their plans, forbad the banns, As second, and as fourth in madam.

Then tied his knot so clever
Adam prefixed it to the name
Of creatures all that to him came;

"Twixt him and shoe-henceforth the two All who confounded were at Babel,

United are for ever. To ntter this one sound were able,

Long may they reign, a happy train, Utter'd by rudest Hottentot,

Each to the other fitted As '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 NoAh.

- 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,
Nobody's property

The upper storey of a wit,
In possession and fee.

Both empty, noticed oft to quit.
Here behold a great mystery.,

Rooms silent are from wall to floor,
For nothing and something

Or set the tables in a roar.
Are hum-thing and dumb-thing, In modern phrase you may have learn'd,
And a never to come thing,

A House is out of windows turn'd,
Either in this our age, or any after history. Whether a rich man's or a poor's,

Ne'er was a room turnd out of doors.

A sick room, left with scarce a shred, 21.

Is better, if it keeps its bed. A negative is no,

How sad the Room where misery lies, Too positive is vice;

How gorgeous where the rich man dies-No vice to know,

Where jewels shine in nightly blaze,
Blessing beyond price,

Where lovers up to windows gaze;
Is heavenward to scan,

Where in despite some day-blind covers Making thee more than man.

The scrutinies of sun and lovers,
Less than man art thou.

Giving their good look-out chagrin,
Art thou the whole ?

By not allowing looking in:
Thou hast a vow

And tho it furnish'd be with glasses, Unmans thee, heart and soul;

No spectacles can see what passes,
For, pardon'd be the pun,

For windows are but eyes disposed
A novice will be nun (none.)

To let in the most light when closed.

Less thing the toscance,

Nap little was, yet none stood higher;
He met reverse-then you reverse him;
And tho' they took such pains to hearse him,
He's turned to pan, and that's a fryer;
The difference if to learn your wish is,
The one is dish'd, the other dishes.


I wonder much you waste your wit
A parish sexton's head to hit,
who with his pick, or soon or late,
Will be revenged upon your pate.
For grave things, with your riddles, must
By him be riddled into dust.
Then, tho' he may not understand
Your riddles, with his spade in hand,
Ding-dong will have the upper hand.
Now turn your room about-both sound
And letters. How enlarged the bound,
For room, as Coleman says, read back,
“ Like every other moor is black."
If Earth, it little profit yields
Except the rental of Moorfields.
The Moor Othello's jealous rage
Is often acted on the stage.
Bright sunshine and blue skies attest
Fair weather on the moorland's breast,
Yet sportsmen rather love moorfowl,
But when the wintry tempests howl
Along the moor and snow-drifts toss it,
There may be danger if you cross it.

The letter I if you pursue,
You'll thank your stars it is not U;
'Twas not in Eve, but in her guilt,
In Cain-not him whose blood he spilt;
'Tis not in heaven or in earth,
In sin coeval with its birth;
'Tis not in man nor angel found,
Alas! elsewhere it should abound I-
In man's long life, perplexed with evil,
In maid, wife, widow, and in devil.
I understand your riddle, sir,
But to its sense I must demur:
Maid, wife, and widow, are terms all
Coin'd for man's use conventional.
If man and angel you exempt,
Put not on women your contempt;
For that same letter you bring in
To be the magic sign of sin,
And which you say is found in no man,
Is absent equally in woman.
But, sir, suppose your charge was true,
The evil rather rests with you ;
Your argument is but a fib,
Although in language very glib;
For woman was but Adam's rib,
And you admit if, by your leave,
No sign of it was found in Eve;
The evil was in man unwedded,
Transferred to her but when she wedded.

Three epithets belong to top,
Which for generic term we drop ;
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 ;
The manly peg all these disdains,
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,
Finds whipping-tops in learning's way,
Not thinking that, to serve good stead,
The better top should be the head;
Tasks idly learnt, from memory slipt,
Are top's revenge by bottom whipt.
Reverse the top-you go to pot-
Its irony-cool fits and hot ;
It boils and broils, and stews and fries,
Its uses, ends, and properties,

You'd be a wondrous Architect,
Could you an edifice erect,
As cheaply as your Room you make
By riddling lines for Fancy's sake,
And outdo Milton with your chime,
And“ build" a "lofty" room, not“ rhyme."

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