RIDDLES. 73

The food of vanity, or pledge of truth,
Conferr’d by love on fond unthinking youth;
But, should that vanity or truth decay,

I’m thought a fetter, and am wish’d away.
Last, but not least, I am by Heav’n design’d
To prove a solace to the wounded mind;
Like ancient ums adorn’d with care and cost,
I hold the reliques of a friend that’s lost.

 

RIDDLE CLIII.

"OR me, all Western India yields its stores ;
Others I seek on Java’s sultry shores;
The Grecian Islands give a full supply;
And fatted oxen, to enrich me, die.
But yet, though wealthy, mark my fatal doom.—
Pent in the precincts of a narrow room,
Thrown into burning caverns, where the day
Has never pierced with his refulgent ray ;
Till, panting with intolerable heat,
I’m served up on the tables of the great.