Nursery Rhyme. CCXIII. Riddles.

    See, see! what shall I see?
    A horse's head where his tail should be.

        [A Cinder-sifter.]

    A riddle, a riddle, as I suppose,
    A hundred eyes, and never a nose.

        [Coals.]

    Black we are, but much admired;
    Men seek for us till they are tired.
    We tire the horse, but comfort man
    Tell me this riddle if you can.

        [A Well.]

    As round as an apple, as deep as a cup,
    And all the king's horses can't pull it up.

        [A Chimney.]

    Black within, and red without;
    Four corners round about.

There was a man rode through our town,
    Gray Grizzle was his name;
His saddle-bow was gilt with gold,
    Three times I've named his name.