Page:Royal riddle book, for the trial of dull wits.pdf/23

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LXXXVII.

My ſtomach they ſit ſometimes with a bit: they give, and I'm the recever: And what I do take, does commonly make my fair face as hot as a fever. A Box-Iron--the Heater is the bit.

LXXXVIII.

When I appear, the affrighted world, dreads miſery and woe! From me ſuch flames are often hurl'd,                           as kingdoms overthrow! A Comet.

LXXXIX.

I am carried thro' the city, Appearing mighty pretty; No quarrel nor wrangle I breed: My body is a tapier, Tho' ſtabb’d, not a drop I do bleed. Scabbard of a sword.

XC.

Fatherleſs, and motherleſs, and wanting the ſkin, It ſpoke when it came to the world, and it never ſpoke again. A blast of Wind.

XCI.

A gentleman all cloth'd in green, oft ſtands behind the door, He ſerves in every family, both with the rich and poor. A Broom Besom.