A RIDDLE.

I’m a strange contradiction; I’m new, and I’m old, I’m often in tatters and oft decked with gold. Though I never could read, yet lettered I’m found; Though blind, I enlighten; though loose, I am bound; I’m always in black, and I’m always in white; I’m grave and I’m gay, I am heavy and light— In form, too, I differ—I’m thick and I’m thin, I’ve no flesh and no bones, yet I’m covered with skin; I’ve more points than the compass, more stops than the flute; I sing without voice, without speaking confute. I’m English, I’m German, I’m French, and I’m Dutch; Some love me too fondly, some slight me too much; I often die soon, though I sometimes live ages, And no monarch alive has so many pages.