WORD PLAY SOLUTIONS (continued 2)

The hunter and his steed are known My first to see. Though men may call my next a stone, Wood it may be. My whole, an exile from his home, Is doomed from place to place to roam.

My first expresses power to do, My next that it is done. To be my whole belongs to few, And perfectly to none.

In my first, as in a shell, All the sweetest sounds may dwell; In my second, shells abound That can catch no sort of sound; In my whole securely rest Those who neither jeer nor jest.

My first, though of the feathered kind, Is never known to fly; My next all who improve their mind Seize as it passes by. My whole may much occasion find To make the truthful lie.

Divide a piece of beef or pork Without the aid of knife and fork; It gives a shelf, rejoined with skill, Where you may set this if you will. Strike off instead the end, its place Is plain as nose upon your face. Cut this asunder in your mind, And what is first put now behind; Part of our foot you thus discover, And in a measure all is over.

Seen as a whole, my form is now Akin to strife and malice; Split, it may grace a princely brow, Or crown the curls of Alice. Recast my letters, and I tell That nourishment is lacking; Stir them afresh until they spell The needle’s help in tacking.

If I write with my first in my second My whole you can never find out; Add a letter, and all will be reckoned A patron of water devout.

Loss of love between us Never can be nice; Yet we live where Venus Changes us to ice.

“Tell me, my sweet, Why are your feet Like fairy-tales?”

Our parson detains every man who has leisure To study stained windows, the glory of fanes; And instead of devoting his income to pleasure, Our sainted dean spends his money on panes.

Though much attached to merriment, Or crime for a variety, To prison I am never sent, But sparkle in society.

Without my first and second’s aid No pudding worth its sauce is made. Take on my third, my fourth I am, My fifth includes myself and Sam. My whole describes the royal fiddler Nero, And shows him as an unheroic hero.

My first’s a fruit of foreign clime, Sweet to the taste, in price not dear; My second does my first produce, And yet my whole my first doth bear.

A thing of beauty, scattered by a breath, My firm embrace is harbinger of death; Not made by hands, a work of wondrous art, Complete and perfected in every part; Crush me to-day with all-determined care, Then look to-morrow, and I shall be there!

Six letters in my name are found. Though only three we see and sound; The shepherd by the running river May hear me where the rushes quiver; And should a stroke my whole divide, Leaving but half on either side, These, backward read, will surely tell What many a toper loves too well.

Upon a battle-field of learned men Hundred and fifty were by none divided. “Now,” said the bishop, “add two-thirds of ten And so you’ll guess the riddle just as I did.”

Though the stations of mortals are many And the last is the head of his race; Yet he, just as often as any, Is won by my first’s fell embrace; Yet we most of us apt are to fall, When our heads cease our hearts to control, Let us hope that not one of us all May be e’er in the state of my whole.

My whole is no matter, And light as the air, Yet it is good on the platter, And excellent fare. Curtail and transpose, And a lady you see, Who will flatter and pose, And with many do me.

My first, for ages out of mind All men have always worn behind, And yet alike by sea and land They carry it upon their hand. My second, carefully matur’d, Is never ill but often cured. My whole, within unchanging lines, Black men and white alike confines.

My second is pressed tightly round To guard from any ill; And when preparing to engage Men find it useful still. My first against attraction set Will neutralise its power; Aided by it, with bargains, some May spend a happy hour. You find my whole by careful search, Which must not be forsaken; It stands before what comes beyond, Which may from it be taken.

Scorned by the meek and humble mind, And often by the vain possessed, Heard by the deaf, seen by the blind, I give the troubled spirit rest.