Page:Royal riddle book, for the trial of dull wits.pdf/15

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And yet it flies, it fees, it hears; It lives by loſs, it feels no ſmart; It lives in woe, it liveth not: Yet evermore that hungry elf Doth feed on nothing but itſelf. The Moon.

LVI.

Old mother, old, ſhe ſtands in the cold, Her children died with age: She lives and brings forth young, And every one without a tongue. An Apple-Tree.

LVII.

I have a chappie all in green, Forty children be therein, Every Soldier cloath’d in white, I’ll give you a groat to tell me right. A Pumpkin.

LVIII.

Two brothers they abroad did go, Whoſe mouth and throats were ſtopt I trow; But when unſtopt, they did not roam, For they were kept confin’d at home. Pair of Shoes.

LIX.

The goodwife ſitting in her chair, thinking on no harm, And all the while ſhe claw’d her gear, until ſhe made it warm, And made it bulky above the knee. Now tell me what this riddle can be. An old Woman Carding Wool.