WORD PLAY SOLUTIONS

Two words in our region of puzzledom pose, And claim, through the passage of years, That neither the pages of Johnson disclose, While either in Murray appears.

This key unlocks our puzzle-box, Johnson and Murray both give “neither,” While, to complete the paradox, Murray and Johnson both give “either!”

Rude Eurus murmurs, trustful buds uncurl, Bulbs push, due culture nurtures fruitful flush; Thrush builds, full sunhued plumes furze tufts unfurl, Up bursts, pure flute-fugue, Bulbul’s tuneful gush.

I see my first, I see my next, And both I sigh and see Joined to my third, which much perplexed And sorely puzzled me. ’Twas fifty, and ’twas something more, Reversed ’twas scarce an ell, With first and next it forms a whole Clear as a crystal bell. What is my whole? A splendid tear Upheld in cruel thrall; Blow soft, ye gales, bright sun, appear! And bid it gently fall.

Take for my first a quadruped, Transpose one for my second; My whole, a biped, quick or dead Is dainty reckoned.

I am not in youth, nor in manhood, nor age, But in infancy ever am known; I’m a stranger alike to the fool and the sage, And though I’m distinguish’d in history’s page I always am greatest alone. I am not in earth, nor the sun, nor the moon; You may search all the sky—I’m not there; In the morning and evening—though not in the noon— You may plainly perceive me—for, like a balloon, I am midway suspended in air. Though disease may possess me, and sickness and pain, I am never in sorrow nor gloom; Though in wit and in wisdom I equally reign, I’m the heart of all sin, and have long lived in vain, Yet I ne’er shall be found in the tomb!

I am bright as a whole Till you cut off my head; Then as black as a coal, Or a mortal instead. Shaken up and recast We with science are found, Read us back from the last And we live underground.

In arts and sciences behold my first the watchword still, All prejudice must bend the knee before its iron will; Yet “Onward!” is the Briton’s cry—a cry that doth express A holy work but half begun, and speaks of hopefulness. In palace or in lonely cot its name alike is heard, And in the Senate’s lordly halls sit my second and my third. Strange paradox, though for my first my total is designed, Sad marks of vice and ignorance we in that whole may find.

Untouched I tell of budding growth and life; Beheaded I lead upward more or less; Again—with varied fragrance I am rife; Again—but little value I express.

Search Holy Writ and you will see A victory was won by me. Behead me, and I may be found In water or on hilly ground. Behead again, and then transpose, A snare my letters now disclose. If yet again my head you sever, No matter how sharp-set or clever, ’Tis all in vain you look about, For no one yet has found me out.

Said a lawyer aside to his friend in the court, “Now I’d bet, were we not in this place, That my first is my second a bottle of port,” Then bright with my whole shone his face.

My first, if foolishly or rashly taken, May mar the future prospects of your life. My second, by her fickle lord forsaken (Sad type of many a gentle, patient wife). May toil and moil to feed his many babies, While he goes flirting off with other ladies. The thrifty monarch of a former age My whole a place in Britain’s history fills. Immortalised in Shakespeare’s magic pages As one who’d fain reform his tailor’s bills!

My second, worn with pompous pride, My first had dangling at his side, On chain securely hooked. My first he came from o’er the sea, A bundle of conceit looked he, And he was all he looked. She led him to the village green, Where in desponding mood was seen My whole, with drooping head. “Behold,” she said, “a perfect, true And striking likeness, sir, of you!” And, laughing, gaily fled.

I’m one among a numerous host, And very useful in my post; There’s not a house in all the land Without me properly can stand. Though men disputed long ago Whether I did exist or no, Once more some thousands have been slain Because they could not me attain.

My first of rudeness has a sound; The rest is in a city found; My whole to win its way is bound.

My first is in cake, but not in bun; My second in light, but not in sun; My third is in night, but not in day; My fourth is in game, but not in play; My fifth is in head, but not in tail; My sixth is in wind, but not in sail; My seventh in wrong, but not in right; My eighth is in battle, but not in fight; My ninth is in sword, but not in knife, My tenth is in lady, but not in wife; My whole is a monarch at war with strife.

My first except when it is old Is never seen or heard; When it is heard the sound is tolled Out of a Jewish beard. My next was in imperial Rome, It was her power and might; Then you had but to write you wish, And straightway ’twas in sight. My whole was Frank Of royal rank.

How great in olden days my power, Oft have I saved a castle tower From war’s invading tide. Transpose me, and how great my fall! I am then the smallest of the small, That nothing can divide.

This compact Enigma take, All apart its letters shake. Let your 6, 3, 5 be high, Like 5, 1, 2 do or die. Who 4, 6, 5, 1 enjoys More than 5, 6, 2 by boys? While 5, 3, 2, 1 are mine, May 4, 6, 3, 2 be thine. 4, 1, 5 is rich and rare, 6, 5, 1, 2 ends my prayer.

“Charles the First walked and talked, Half an hour after his head was cut off.” Old Couplet. Cut off my head, I’m every inch a King, A warrior formed to deal a heavy blow. Halve what remains, my second is a thing Which nothing but my third can e’er make go, My third will vary as you take your line, This less than human, that way all divine!

Touch me not, I’m firm and sure; Behead, I’m used by rich and poor; In house and cottage, hut and hall, I stand of service to them all. Behead again, in time of need I tell that strength and skill succeed.

What river is that, where it is found, Which Pope says does with eels abound? What Scottish lake, by high hills bounded, Is with bright birch and oak surrounded? What stream is said in Devon to run Into the sea near Otterton? What bay on Cuba’s distant coast Is justly deemed its pride and boast? The initials of these names will show A Scotch reformer, who, we know, Flourished three hundred years ago.

My whole may be a mother, not a dad, So former may, or latter; But twist my tail, and I become as mad As any hatter! Behead me, and behold I am a man, Who never was called mister; Cut off my tail, and instantly I can Become a sister!

My first, thou knowest, was in ancient Rome, Rome’s fate my next, and one that all may dread. Long may it be before that fate shall come And sever with my whole thy life’s last thread!

The sun is darting rays of gold Upon the moor, enchanting spot; Whose purpled heights, by Ronald loved, Up open to his shepherd cot. And sundry denizens of air Are flying—aye, each to his nest; And eager make at such an hour All haste to reach the mansions blest.

This multiplies me, I declare, Though it reduces one; A sty is foul if it is there, By it a deed is done.

Lennie parsed the words he read, Studying Praed’s fable; Lennie’s mother rasped the bread, Sophy drapes the table. “Work while you are spared,” they said, “Spread while you are able!”

When I write with my first, in my second, My whole is quite sure to be in. Divided afresh, there is reckoned A wit, or a something that’s thin. Prefix a letter, and, as clear as paint, You see the name of an old English Saint,

My first, though half a noisy bird, To a slight noise may turn; My second-twist, a stately word, And it will bend we learn.

To half of ten add one Then half a score. When this is duly done Almost ten more. This can be good for none, But trial sore.

Quick veerers in action, now timid, now bold, Like reevers of ropes far too rotten to hold, Reserve a severer reverse and disasters For a State that reveres not incapable masters.

My first is an heir, My second a snare, My whole is the offspring of fancy, Which I sent on its way Last Valentine’s Day, As a token of love to my Nancy.

My love shall never know my first, Shall never be my second; It shall my all, come best, come worst, Be surely reckoned.

I am a letter, and a word, I am a tree, I am a name, Cut me in pieces with a sword, You and your act would be the same. Thrice you must leave the aspirate in doubt, And use it twice if you would find me out.

My first the rainbow shows When in rich hues it glows. My next has vowels three; My third was once a tree. My fourth begins the year, My whole the past makes clear.

Less than my last, my whole has place Between my first and second: Second has body, arms and face; First is by inches reckoned.

My first at early morn the camp alarms, And at its sound the soldier springs to arms; My second nowadays fair ladies scorn, Though in less dainty days it oft was worn. My whole, a battle fought on Scottish ground, With victory the rebel forces crowned.

I love strolling troupes that go wandering round, Each spouter a Proteus in versatile skill; Each posture so quaint, each idea so profound, My barn’s at their service, whenever they will. A company played there last night, but to-day Ducks, pouters, and poultry have vanished away!

I’m a worker most active, most useful, most known, Of all that are busy in country and town. Take from me one letter, and yet my good name In spite of this loss will continue the same. Take from me two letters, and still you will see That precisely the same in effect I shall be. Take from me three letters, or even take more, Yet still I continue as sound as before.

B drove a goodly flock of geese, And met with Farmer A; Said Farmer A, “How much apiece For this lot did you pay?” Said B, “I paid for all I drive Just six pounds and a crown, And I am selling all but five At the next market town. If fifteen pence a head I charge Beyond the price I paid, I shall secure a sum as large As he who sold all made.”

When second held first For best or for worst, I thought myself happy to win her. But what could I say When the very next day She gave me the whole for my dinner?

The bees’ blithe vernal love-songs softly hum, Blending so sweetly with the restful air; The noiseless, deep-laced twilight shadows come, And well I ken the lass who meets me there—

A little beast without its head Becomes a mighty beast instead: But then the subject of my riddle Is cut asunder in the middle; And nothing this division gains, Though unknown quantity remains.

Mary sat with slate in hand, Writing tales dramatic. Did she steal the plots she planned? Negative emphatic! Stale to us the tales may be, But at least they’re new to she!

Six hundred and sixty so ordered may be That if you divide the whole number by three You find the result will exactly express The half of six hundred and sixty, no less—

There was a young turkey, oh, bless her! It cost very little to dress her; Some breadcrumbs and thyme About Thanksgiving time, And they ate every bit from the dresser!

She loses her head when she joins the brides, He joins them after tea; But both are swept by ruthless tides Away on the western sea.

How does the sluggard’s garden grow? When rates are high, results are low. His borders tares and bindweed spoil, No careful culture tears the soil; What weeds that stare are all alive Where aster, pink, or rose should thrive.

Correctly drawn results I yield, Varied, but welcome everywhere; But met with in the open field I’m banned if frequent, blest if rare. To this peculiar difference the clue Is called with much significance the cue.

Wait while I think the matter over, On holiday intent; The best I’ve seen is surely Dover, That pretty port of Kent.

An Arab came to the river side, With a donkey bearing an obelisk; But he did not venture to ford the tide, For he had to good an ass to risk (asterisk). So he camped all night by that river side, Secure till the tide had ceased to swell, For he knew that whenever the donkey died, No other could be its parallel (‖).

What ho, my jolly second! never say my first While my final you can find in Amsterdam. Think how a sound whole stays your hunger and your thirst, Deftly readjusting bread and meat and jam.

Six letters spell the happy state Of two in love made one. The same six letters tell the fate Of marriage ties undone.

My first’s a bond, my second’s weigh; These own the rest of all my lay; Busy my third; fourth like the pole, Whose opposite my fifth makes goal.

For two months at the nets we played, Ere we were sent to Lord’s; Alas! the score our champion made Was what a nest affords. The crowd in tens of thousands came, But took scant notice of the game.

Set down three figures in a line, Then multiply by four; This, if you use the proper sign, Makes five, and nothing more.

To silver Tweed, or broader Spey, The grilse of silver, sailer gay, Guides on; the sailor morals draws When salmon follows Nature’s laws.

I never move, and yet I run From place to place all day; Some loving swain, hot foot for fun, Sees Dora in my way—

Seven words in one of letters five we fix, Six English, and one Latin; No need to twist them, or afresh to mix, If puzzles you are pat in.

Peter White Will never go right; Shall I tell you the reason why? Wherever he goes, He follows his nose, And that stands all awry! If this appendage had slanted more. Why would it serve a hole to bore?

This season’s sunshine smiles, such storms as pass Assist us to assess success or loss. Spring’s sweetness still possesses mossy grass, As summer’s tresses mass soft shades across.

Protected, open, plain, Without my tail I’m flat; I’m round, curtailed again; Again, you have me pat!

When all are gay this holds the sway, But take a letter out, That change of fare is ruling there, You see, without a doubt. Behead me twice; it is not nice To have this in your skin; Lop head and tail, and find a nail Or tack to drive it in. Behead this right, and in your sight A little word you find; But you will never make it out, Though it is in your mind.

He prides himself much on his skill, In many a burglary tried; But when he prised open the till There was only a spider inside.

Three-fourths of me an act display, Three-fourths a bed for man; Three-fourths have legs that cannot stray, Three-fourths have legs that can. I have a back without a spine, An arm without a bone is mine.

My first is the French for my second, My whole a narcotic is reckoned

Sweet till I lose my head, Sweet-hearted then I show; Decapitate again, I spread, And cannot be below. Served so once more, I am not dead, But with fresh beauty glow.

Two articles of English make, And three from foreign source. All these together you must take Where dramas run their course.

Lop head and tail, and you will find I have both tail and head. Or if for spirits you’ve a mind Set my tail first instead. Life, as “a vapour full of woes,” With many a darker page, My whole in picture will disclose, For “all the world’s a stage!”

A glowing transept window, graced With patterns that true art has traced.

They grab the dress with grip so keen That half the garb gives way: And home return with purses lean To brag of “bargain-day”!

Three ladies went sailing out into the West, Out into the West as the sun sank low; Each thought as she sailed of the lad she loved best For they all had ideals, and each had a beau. ...... But seas will rise, and spirits will sink, And they all were too ill of ideals to think, So these ladies sailed back moaning!

Lurking in riddles oft my first is found; My second should in ample stores abound, Or help to make the sweetest songster heard. Peculiar, and quite proper, is my third. My whole has found with England’s monarch grace, The verdant home of many a goodly race,

Accent my head, An opening I appear; In other fashion said I charm all far and near—

A part of me in rain, A part in hail must be, A part belongs to pain, A part in bones we see, A part in gleaming gold, A part in common copper. A part in peace behold, A part in any topper, Two parts are heard in sound, And in our finals found.

Men commonly say I am clever, Book-learning I never could boast; Yet I turn the leaves inside the cover, And when I am found I am lost.

A sot is like a toast, or what is most Comparative, a toast is like a sot; For when their substances in liquor sink Both properly are said to be in drink.

A wordy warfare waged with wit, In youth its joys none need descry; But where our elders take to it Its name points loss of dignity,

My first’s in garb, but not in dress; My next’s in praise, but not in bliss; My third’s in man, but not in miss; My fourth’s in we. My fifth’s in boar, but not in hog; My sixth’s in cat, but not in dog; My next’s in calm, but not in fog; My eighth’s in we. My ninth’s in rope, but not in twine; My tenth’s in light, but not in shine; My next’s in four, but not in nine; My twelfth’s in we.

’Tis plain that no one takes a plane To pare a pair of pears; A rake may often take a rake To tear away the tares.

I’m in everyone’s way, Yet no one I stop. My four horns each day Horizontally play, And my head is nailed on at the top.

Take five from five, and then Put fifty in the middle; Twice ten times five times ten Will finish off my riddle, And bring it to your ken As fit as any fiddle!

When Jacky Barrett, learned Don, Composed his famous riddle, His thoughts, perhaps, were resting on The strings of his old FIDDLE.

No quail will quail before the wind, A bough will bow before it; We cannot rein the rain, or find That earthly powers reign o’er it.

We seem to sound a note of lavish bounty; Reverse us, and we indicate a county—

FTHNMLKBRNGSLLCTTN LLSKMTMXTTLLTSTHN!

If thin milk brings illicit tin, I’ll skim it, mix it, till it’s thin!

Yet I see them all! on golden wings that fly Old memories steal anew; With a tear, with a sigh, with an old, old cry They return in ghostly hue!

My dear Mr Bird, We are giving a ball; First second we third, Pray give us your all.

Second, I did my first and last, Till I became my whole, And told the tale of my repast, A sad and greedy soul.

My whole, industrious, wends his way His daily task to meet; Behead, transpose a, lo! a sound Of music soft and sweet; Behead again, I make my way With swiftness past belief; Again, and where the fields are gay My bounty brings relief.

“’Tis an absurdity to say Women should try for a B.A. To College honours forward looking; They’d best confine themselves to cooking!”

“Women should try for a B.A., To College honours forward looking; ’Tis an absurdity to say They’d best confine themselves to cooking!”

Eight letters (start with b) Three syllables contain; Take one away, and see Four syllables remain!

Dies slowly fading day, winds mournful sigh, Brightly stars are waking; Flies owlet hooting, holding revel high, Nightly silence breaking.

No man at all am I, And, if you turn me round, To hear my warning cry Not any men are found.

How can our sailors fare the best When times are harder? How do they greet with merry jest An empty larder?

FOWL IS FARE. Wind that blows foul and chops about, With lighter puffs, And finds the thirsty sailor stout, Brings food enough!

I lose my head when I am here, Transpose me I am three; Look in a book, you find me there, And with me her and he—

Jack did declaim that he could square The circle to a decimal; His friends claimed that a brain so rare Required attention medical.

My father is my son, And I’m my mother’s mother; My daughter and sister are one, I’m grandam to my brother!

Catch my first with nimble wit, Add a simple word; Then my whole may help a bit Opportunely heard.

My mate and I from home did start, Some little space we were apart. When we had run a mile or more We kept our distance, as before; Shade of Colenso! could this be, When twice as fast as I ran he?

A monument all men agree Am I in all sincerity, Half cat, half hindrance made. If head and tail removed should be, Then most of all you strengthen me. Replace my head, the stand you see On which my tail is laid.

I’m known to the poorest and worst, And my worth by a child may be reckoned; The least thing in nature is double my first, And my whole is just half of my second.

My first without its head and tail Is one and undivided; My second shows its teeth, is frail, And as a rule one-sided. The two to hold my first avail, By busy toil provided.

His sister played the piano while we sang. I saw Nell out here last evening. The general rode a large black mare. I have ordered a cab at half-past one. Meet me in the lane at half-past nine.

When they found that catacomb Near the Capitol at Rome ’Twas the topical discussion of the season; But the optical effect Of the skeletons select Deprived the poor Professor of his reason!

My first is pretence, My second a dandy; When fogs are most dense My whole will be handy.

Use all your wits to guess my all, Can any guess it right? Transposed, and never seen at all, It still is felt in sight. Behead, transpose, then let it be, And you at last a clue may see.

Let my second cut my first When I come to table; Though I cannot quench your thirst Eat me—you are able.

What mars a land so sadly as a war? What days as dark as days that wars alarm? Alas! ask any, ask at hand, afar, All shall call war a harass and a harm. Why call, as ballads talk, that ghastly art All gallant acts—a grand and manly part?

To me when whole, for I am sweet, The moon fresh brightness brings; Cut off my tail, I’m blunt, but meet To sharpen other things. Behead me twice, and I have led Soldiers to face the foe; Headless and tailless, one remains Though all the rest may go.

We start when the ninth hour is past, Then there’s an end of you. A vengeful goddess shows at last What Antifat will do.

When on charades intent I take my pen, To seek some hidden goal, Over my first my second comes, and then Quite overcomes my whole.

Tell me, Ben, who tore it. Seek a plant for it, see Bob.

I have no form, I have no friend, From me all come, in me all end. And it is strange but very true That I am here and nowhere too—

My first is a cover, My second a city; The whole you discover With this if you’re witty.

She is as deaf as any post, Incurable I fear; She is my guest, I am her host, How can I make her hear?

Kate gathers me where children three, Tom, Jane, and Mary, chatter; He leads the way and then we see The other two come at her!

My first we all do when we fail; My next is heard in rain or hail; My fourth a sheep of gender male; My third is one without its tail; My whole for foreign countries sail.

I’m but a little letter, still I have my duties to fulfil; If off you take My tail, and make An alteration in my lot, Though I seem shorter I am not.

Says Tom to Bill, “Pray tell me, sir, Why is it that the devil, In spite of all his naughty ways Can never be uncivil?” Says Bill to Tom, “The answer’s plain To any mind that’s bright; Because the imp o’ darkness, sir, Cannot be imp o’ light!”

Beneath the limes which shade the lawn Her bicycle she mounted; And with a smile, ere she had gone An hour, ten miles she counted. It rained, it snowed, but nought could stop her, Till in the slime, she came a cropper!

A woman’s name Of foreign fame, Hers was a noble mind. Now, sir, transpose, And I suppose No smaller thing you’ll find.

Pour avoir mon premier Femme qui cache mon dernier Manque souvent mon entier.

Let go! let go! you naughty first, Or you will make my second; A stream of words will then outburst, Swift as my whole is reckoned.

My first is first when cruisers charge in line, And oft in frosty skies is seen to shine. Don’t spare my second if you would suggest To an impulsive child the way that’s best. My sporting whole, though now neglected grown, Travelled by tube before the tube was known.

First of men we lead a measure, Last we end the same. Starting merrily, our pleasure Is to finish lame.

Mon premier est un tyran, mon second un horreur, Mon tout est le diable lui-même. Mais si mon premier est bon, mon second ne fait rien, Et mon tout est le bonheur suprême.

In youth exalted high in air, Or bathing in the streamlet fair, Nature to form me took delight And clothed my body all in white; My person tall and slender waist On either side with fringes graced; Till me that tyrant Man espied, And dragg’d me from my mother’s side. No wonder that I look so thin, The monster stripp’d me to the skin; My body flay’d, my hair he cropp’d, And head and foot both off he lopp’d; Pick’d all the marrow from my bone. And then, with heart more hard than stone, To vex me more, he took a freak To slit my tongue, and make me speak. But that which wonderful appears, I speak to eyes and not to ears. All languages I now command Yet not a word I understand.

The ship rode in an eastern bay, Asleep astern the master lay, A stern and rugged man was he, And, like a tern, at home at sea. Like swooping ern he caught his prey Whene’er an R.N. came his way; But while due N. the needle kept He in his cabin lay and slept.

When the tempest roars the loudest Oft my first a shelter proves. Say what fair one, though the proudest, Spurns my next from one she loves? When the storms of life are past Earth provides my whole at last.

One syllable, I help to turn the scale Of party strife or faction; Recast me, and two syllables avail To stop all further action.

Oh, on old towers, thou gloomy owl, Thou lovest to hoot, thou lovest to howl. Or on old oaks your hollow tone So lost, so solemn, sounds alone, So mournful no one loves to go Or of your hooting howls to know.

I’m free to-day, the old sire said, O no cell now have I to dread; For this one happy day to me Are glen and hill and forest free, I, if I will, can ride, or fish, A pit can enter, if I wish, In search of chalk or sand. In peace alone I now can dine, And sing to Anna’s lute at nine, Nor fear a reprimand.

My first transposed becomes a name Which may quite mean be reckoned, Two syllables combine the same, With one or two for second. My whole when fields are fresh and green, And softly blows the wind, Where the first signs of spring are seen Within the woods we find.

Silent long is the wood-bird’s song, Bare is the woodland bough; For waving trees in wintry breeze Have “no buds now.”

A farmer with children sixteen Killed the fattest young lamb of his flock. To divide it these children between, What must be the time by the clock?

To the far end of any train Hitch on a pair of neddies; Then you will hear, like steps of Cain, The threat that in their tread is.

Take all the alphabet, and cast Its final letter out; Then set the first where was the last, And this you bring about: Without a cook, without a fire, A dainty dish which men desire.

My second with my first we greet; My whole in earlier days Gave understanding to the feet That moved in tragic plays.

In any coward’s company you find That I have place. Cut off my head, and from your mind All wrong erase.

My first, elect among the few, Chooses my second to expose his view. 1. Of various colours, changed at will, 1. I sit or stand for good or ill. 2. I rule alone from noon till night, 2. And when I am not am is right.

Let her be or beat her, Give her little ease; Then in safety seat her All among the bees,

“We,” cried my first and second, “Are not quite satisfied.” “The story may be reckoned Imperfect,” fourth replied. Said third, “The fact indeed I tell,” And so at last all ended well.

My first and second are as best they should be, My third in Latin mouth is what it would be, My whole would soon be ashes if it could be.

Since Spooks, a subtle man is he, Sublet this haunted house to me, In bluest funk I bustle round, And fear a ghost in every sound.

My first is never far away, My next in Latin found; My third may rage by night or day; All make melodious sound.

Through the forest trees Softly coo the doves; Let a softer breeze Foster youthful loves!

At starting half your income take, Then for my second write; And let your table help to make The total cosy quite.

My whole is a circle complete, Beheaded I fall to your feet. Behead me again and I fry, Or am baked in a savoury pie.

If my whole by my second and first you divide, One more than ten thousand it gives. In the land of my birth I have dwindled and died, In museums my memory lives.

Though never present, I appear, Of perfect form a token; And all that centres round my ear Is heard, though never spoken.

Behead me twice, and it shall be That I my perfect self regain; Restore both heads, and you shall see That most imperfect I remain.

Grant lady, grant your slave his whim, And give the coming valse to him, For this will salve his jealous heart, Stricken so sore by Cupid’s dart. If not, he laves his hands of you, To seek fresh vales and pastures new.

“Yes, yes, I know,” said Jack to Jill, “That thirty-two is freezing point: And I can tell you, if you will, Exactly what is squeezing-point!”

To fifty add a third of one, A third to five attach; You have the means, when this is done, To kindle any match.

The untrained speculator in the City Is robbed by peculators without pity.

My first is quite a sin by name, My third its simple cure; My second puts an end to fame, My whole of ease is sure.

Cut off my head, it is unshaken, Cut off my tail, you turn it round, But if both head and tail are taken, Unconquered still I hold my ground.

Why should we quarrel, first and third, With nought between us but a word? Let third leave second unessayed To heal the breach these letters made. If your solution be writ fair You find my whole disjointed there.

In haunted house to sleep I tried, My dread first was my chum. “With second of my first,” I cried, “My whole I should become.”

My first is possessive and second: My second possessive and first. Such banks most attractive are reckoned By those for rich treasure athirst.

The Kates of Shakespeare and of song Have fair and dainty features; But she I stake my hopes upon Excels those lovely creatures. From Keats she takes her name so dear, She lives on steaks and honey: She cannot skate, but she can steer, And Madeline has money.

My first your bosom friend, or man or maid, Whom you can trust, secure and unafraid. My second, sounded double, tells of fate, Or sounded single puts an end to hate. My whole a hall’s arched roof, or soft or hard, That lies beyond the gate with ivory barr’d.

Without my head I circulate With speed and inclination. Without my bait, at anyrate, I still have inclination. Transpose three letters, in unbroken state I then receive the ashes of the great.

The audience in wrapt impatience sits; Comes an excuse, and disappointment hisses, Strange that Sims Reeves, whose singing ever hits, By a mere shift of letters ever misses!

Consuming lust for lucre, now so rife, Like cruel ulcer mars both love and life.

And as trim bees rise or go, A long aim I’d say, a libel O!

Alas, for that forgotten day When chivalry was nourish’d, When none but friars learn’d to pray, And beef and beauty flourish’d; And fraud in kings was held accursed, And falsehood sin was reckon’d, And mighty chargers bore my first, And fat monks wore my second! Ah, then I carried sword and shield And casque with flaunting feather, And earn’d my spurs in battle-field, In winter and rough weather; And polish’d many a sonnet up To ladies’ eyes and tresses; And learn’d to drain my father’s cup, And loose my falcon’s jesses! But dim is now my grandeur’s gleam, The mongrel mob grows prouder; And everything is done by steam, And men are kill’d by powder; And now I feel my swift decay, And give unheeded orders; And rot in paltry state away With sheriffs and recorders.

My first you oft savagely pierce through and through; My next harbours nonsense, and wisdom, and dust; But, oh! what disaster might chance to accrue, Should my whole, from my second, step into my first!

My whole describes the action of a gale, Decapitation makes an organ play. Behead again, it sounds o’er hill and vale; Again, it tells of what we do not pay. Take nothing off, it is an eagle’s sail. Again behead, and half a string denote; Again, and lo! a horse’s head and tail; And last of all on music’s notes I float.

Across my first, with flash and roar, The stately vessel glides alone. And mournful on the crowded shore There stands an aged crone, Watching my second’s parting smile, As he bids farewell to his native isle. My whole comes back to other eyes, With beauteous change of fruit and flowers, But dim to her are those bright skies, And sad those joyous hours; For, alas! my first is dark and deep, And my second cannot hear her weep.

When morning dawned, and the tide was out, The pair crossed over ’neath Allah’s protection, And the Arab was happy beyond a doubt, For he had the best donkey in all that section. You are wrong! They were drowned in crossing over, Though the donkey was bravest of all his race; He luxuriates now in perpetual clover, And his master has gone to the prophet’s embrace.

A siren, risen on Erin’s strands, Caught Pat’s heart in her meshes; He left the reins in Cupid’s hands, And watched her rinse her tresses; Tresses of resin coloured gold, Veiling, like any frock, A tail which, as it did unfold, Gave to poor Pat a shock.

No wider sympathy was ever shown Than when weird news, from Kingston wired, was known.

No, no, I hardly ever touch The thing which many love so much, It has a place within these lines, But is taboo where Delia dines.

Every Cretan is said to lie, And steeds that canter pant. The gods drank nectar, old and dry, And all men may recant. Finally this key extend Take from en(trance)d the end.

My captive second, sulking in my first, Might surlily bemoan his fate accurst; Bemoan, or as alternative you find My whole the word that fits his state of mind. For meet enclosure, you can take a score Of captive seconds, first deducting four.

THGLBDWNWSLLLDSTFTHLT; MNFTNRDRNRGTNNTHSPT.

The “Globe” do we now sell, oldest of the lot; Men often order one, or get one on the spot.

Who knows the East a land may know Famed for its teas, and long age A seat of sage and seer. The native there, so full of tricks, To sate his hunger eats with sticks, Nor knows his ways are queer.

If doubled you would see my first Let third and second be reversed. But if my last you would behold Increase my first a hundredfold. Combine them all, and you can trace The four within an empty space.

My first is small, and seldom reverential; My next not large enough to heed or prize; My whole is altogether consequential; My third though small is counted very wise—

In swift relays the beaters add Fresh layers to the heaps of slain; And still, with lust of slaughter mad, The slayer plies his hand amain!

My first is nothing but a name, My second still more small, My whole shows such a lack of fame It has no name at all.

Well known by story, not by name, I died a death unknown before, Nor ever to corruption came; My shroud the waves cast on the shore.

When Cesar, our puppy, sets out for a run, Over acres he races, all frolic and fun. For no whistle cares he, in his desperate hurry, The slow sheep to scare, and the old cow to worry.

The mystical gnome never flinches from toil Who buries the rubies in Orient soil; Yet busier mortals will ever abound, Who bruise all the soil till the treasure is found.

My feathered first has wings and sings, Unfledged my second swings its wings; My third on blackest pinions flies, My fourth can float beneath the skies. The letters to my first that fall Are the initials of them all.

My first was of the pirate breed, Their irate captain, hot and riled, To rate his men found vain indeed, They only ate and smoked, and smiled!

Putting two small beasts that you take To the beginning of an end, A pointed weapon you will make To wound a foe or praise a friend.

He aspired to be praised as a wonderful shot, But he potted the dog, and despair was his lot!

‘I excel not by a pun’ Turn these six words into one!

“War is a game which, were their subjects wise, Kings would not play at,” wrote the poet’s pen; But in war’s issue will be staked the prize, While kings and subjects are but erring men; So Britain—native empress of the seas— On ocean cradled, by her storm-king nursed— Friend of the fallen, guardian of the free, Rests on her well-tried last and trusty first. Her first alone can well maintain her right, Unscathed by any threat or mutinous blast; And though, when needed, foremost in the fight, Her first (strange paradox!) is always last! But should the tide of war approach the shore And threaten to engulf her island seat, My whole, replying with defiant roar, Would crash the audacious foe beneath her feet!

My first is flogged to make it move the faster, And turns at once to satisfy its master. My next will ripen as a pleasant fruit, For those whose simple taste its flavours suit. My whole, when breezes blow and pennons fly, Stands up aloft and points us to the sky.

A noun there is, of plural number, In daily use from here to Humber. Now almost any noun you take By adding “S” you plural make; But if you add an “S” to this, Strange is the metamorphosis! Plural is plural now no more; Useless what useful was before.

First, a semi-circle make, Add to this another Figure of two little lines Meeting with each other; Then a perfect circle form, Truly, neat, compactly, Add another form to these, Like the first exactly; Then, to make it all complete, Form a kind of angle, With a straight line, that should meet In a kind of tangle; When you this have rightly done (’Tis the truth I’m telling), You will get an article Useful in a dwelling: Should you this decapitate, You may have another Article, which, in its place, Is useful as the other.

Veiling the leas, my first may steep Late autumn’s listless air; And with my tainting second creep On idle spade and share. When happy days link soul to soul, And sunny faces shine, May both combined, a subtle whole, Be far from me and mine!

Old Charlie Brown, who a big rogue was reckoned, Was brought up at my first for making my second; He was fined, and because he no money would pay Had to work with my whole on the King’s highway.

Complete, I grow within a field And pleasant pasture often yield; Behead me once, a suitor then Is quickly brought before your ken; Behead again, I am a word That on the cricket-ground is heard. Restore my heads, cut off my tail, To name a spice you’ll not then fail; Behead me now, and you will find The master passion left behind. Put on my head, my tail restore, Complete me as I was before, My second letter take away, An envelope I am, you’ll say; But now curtail me just once more, I am an inlet on the shore.

My second is double my first, My first is but half of my second; And I’m sure you’ll admit that my whole Is ten times the latter when reckon’d.

My first I went the other day, And pretty surely reckon’d A basket of fine fish to catch, With hook and rod and second. But I was out in reckoning; A very pretty she Of her fair face show’d just my whole— And pretty soon hook’d me.

Of mirth the parent, though the child of art, A stranger to myself in every part; Each India has a native in my breast, The West my sweetness, and my fire the East. While milder climes my virtue to complete, Quicken my softness, and correct my heat; My dearest friends upon my vitals prey, And as they see me sinking, grow more gay.

When my whole takes a flight in the air you will find That my next is not left a great distance behind; But join them together, and plain to your view It all is as firm and as tight as a screw.

To three-fourths of a cross, add a circle complete; Then, let two semi-circles a perpendicular meet; Next, add a triangle that stands on two feet; Then, two semi-circles, and a circle complete.

Leader of Vandals and of vice My head is reckoned; A Turkish captain will suffice To be my second. My third is firm if well selected; My whole a wanderer neglected.

One thousand, two hundred, Nothing, and one, Transposed, give a word Expressive of fun.

My first was creeping on his way Through the mists of a dull October day, When a minstrel came to its muddy bed, With a harp on his shoulder, a wreath on his head; “And how shall I reach,” the poor boy cried, “To the courts and the cloisters on t’other side?” Old Euclid came, and he frown’d a frown, And he dash’d the harp and the garland down; Then he led the bard, with a stately march, O’er my second’s long and cellar’d arch;— “And see,” said the sage, “how every ass Over the sacred stream must pass!” The youth was mournful, the youth was mute, He sigh’d for his laurel, he sobb’d for his lute;— The youth took comfort, the youth took snuff, And follow’d the lead of that teacher gruff; And he sits, ever since, in my whole’s kind lap, In a silken gown and a trencher cap.

Upright and honest is my first; My second you may see Upon the frozen lake or stream; My whole is equity.

Never wearied, see us stand, A glittering and a stately band— Of sturdy stuff, but graceful form, In summer cold, in winter warm; From hottest duty never swerving, Night and day our place preserving; Each serving to a different use, Not to be changed without abuse. And, pray, mark well another fact— In unison we never act, Except, as on occasion dread, We watch the ashes of the dead; When we are ranged, as you may see As awful sentries, one, two, three.

My first, though naught, with others is a fruit, My next is vital to both man and brute. It should be dear to all who hate the devil, For it is ever the reverse of evil. My all, when whole, is eloquent of peace, Divided it invokes to life that will not cease.

Guess at my first, ’tis easy to discover, Covered with rings, and whiskered like a dandy. Wrapped up in furs, ’tis often on the housetop, Oft in the chimney! See where my second, scorning to be hidden, Stands at the head of quite a band of others, Like a virago, straddling with feet apart, And arms akimbo. Surely my next is happy in its office, Parting the lovelocks on Neæra’s forehead; Setting the golden lines wherewith she angles For the unwary. If by my whole at any time you pass, you Tread on the dust of holy saints and martyrs, Holy the place, may holy thoughts attend you, Peacefully dreaming!

Offspring of nature and of art, I stand Chief ’midst the monuments of every land; I may not lengthen life, but I For centuries forbid to die. The greatest truth in me you meet Is but deception most complete. Unchanged I last the changing crowds among, And as I older grow, I grow too young.

Pronounced as one letter, and written with three, Two letters there are, and two only in me; I’m double, I’m single, I’m black, blue, and gray, I’m read from both ends, and the same either way.

My first is false as false can be; My next old ladies wear; My whole’s my first, as you will see, As false, I do declare.

When whole I am indeed a thing To puzzle you a bit; Though parts of me are hard, at Bridge The others make a hit; Or you may make a car of some, And fix a head to it.

A word of nine letters explains How to mitigate bodily pains; The five vowels are there, And four consonants share This function for medical brains.

My second guides my first and third For pleasure, trade, and war; My first and second by my third Are oft transported far. But when my first my third doth pull, ’Tis then his lot is worst; And should my second lack my whole, He’s apt to leave my first.

The schoolboy likes me well, For healthful sport I bring, Yet I can harm create, Though such a little thing: Connubial bliss is form’d by me; My nature is equality.

What person’s name is doubly evil? Sinbad reminds us of the devil.

I’m a district near London; If made wrong, I come undone; O’er sweet strings I swift run, Or appear with the bright sun, And though by me fights were won, I can greet you every one.

I am my first when seen with you, My next is always bad. A rogue in grain much harm may do And make the farmer mad.

When winter comes with frost and cold, My first is welcome, as of old; And though its grip may make you thinner, It helps to cook your Christmas dinner. Let me but hear my next rejoice At early dawn with cheerful voice, I haste to find, with eager pleasure, Some specimen of hidden treasure. A traveller my whole may find Far from his English kith and kind; Though some at home, to England’s shame, Are this in fact, if not in name.

It was to-morrow, and It will be yesterday; Now it is near at hand What is it? Who can say?

My first doth fill with light his father’s eyes, The second shadows all the mother’s brow; My whole all men, all women, girls and boys, Have had, and long to lose, and lost for ever now; But know not, nor can know, when it was lost, and how.

Complete, though not of human race, A soul in me may dwell; Behead, I held a higher place, Until, like man, I fell. Again behead, and in the song Of Burns I’m all your own; Behead once more, it would be wrong To find me out when known.

With head good for naught, And with tail always drunk, You know well what to say Of the worth of my trunk. First cut off my tail, I am Greek, and I’m not; Then cut off my head, And some Latin you’ve got. Lopping both you know best What remains, as I said, For I really am you If I lose tail and head!

One guiding eye I need In running through the gaps; My tail, as on I speed, Is caught in many traps.

Of all the birds that ever sought a mate, My first is to but one appropriate, So speak the word! nor silence shyly woo. To find my next, go! wander in the Zoo! My whole is a magician of the squares, But Art, with Chess, his best affections shares, So this, indeed, to him may be a law When winning’s hopeless, grandly still to draw.

Though poor and humble was my birth I sit enthroned on high; My footsteps far above the earth, My canopy the sky. O’er toiling subjects thus in state I bear despotic sway; Yet on them hand and foot I wait At break and close of day.

I am not of flesh and blood, Yet have I many a bone; No limbs, except one leg, And can’t stand on that alone. My friends are many, and dwell In all lands of the human race; But they poke my poor nose into the mud, And shamefully spatter my face. Thrust me into each other’s ribs, Stick me in gutter and rut; I have never a window, and never a door, Yet I often open and shut.

Before the crown descended on The head of England’s Queen, Four Kings upon that royal throne Of the same name had been. Now if the signs which marked their name Be joined unto a beast, We have a food on which the same (A quadruped) will feast.

I am pretty, and useful in various ways, Though I tempt some poor mortals to shorten their days; Behead me, and then in my place will appear What youngsters admire every day in the year; Behead me once more, and without any doubt, You must be what is left if you don’t find it out.

My first, when skilfully performed (Its doer by applauses warmed), Bespeaks both skill and vigour. When with my whole, so soft and light, I saw my second gay bedight, She made a splendid figure.

The man who rates the common tares Above the aster chaste. Stare as he may, the world declares Is not a man of taste. And, though my sympathy he shares, No tears on him I’ll waste.

When a monk in old times, unexpectedly heated, Endangered the peace of his soul, To atone for my second my first he repeated Quite ten times a day on my whole.

An insect small and fell Makes a weird sound, If, as its name you spell, You turn it round. One letter cast, and still Shift what remains, Another insect will Reward your pains.

Where head and body duly meet I am as slender as a bee; Whether I stand on head or feet My figure shows its symmetry. But when my head is cut away The metamorphosis is strange; Though both of them unaltered stay, Body and head to nothing change.

First is in coast, second in ghost, Third must be reckoned part of second; Fourth in boat, fifth in float, Sixth you will find within your mind. Seventh in blue, eighth in true, These letters tell a fruit that they spell.