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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529950" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Enigma</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Come riddle-me-ree, come riddle-me-ree,<br>And tell me, what my name may be.<br>I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old,<br>And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose; --<br>Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have told),<br>I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my clothes;<br>Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand,<br>That if folks were to furnish me now with a suit,<br>It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land<br>But to measure my bulk from the head to the foot.<br>Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my stature,<br>To cover me nothing but rags will supply;<br>And the doctors declare that, in due course of nature,<br>About the year 30 in rags I shall die.<br>Meanwhile I stalk hungry and bloated around,<br>An object of int'rest, most painful, to all;<br>In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I'm found,<br>Holding citizen, peasant, and king in my thrall.<br>Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-ree,<br>Come, tell me what my name may be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>When the lord of the counting-house bends o'er his book,<br>Bright pictures of profit delighting to draw,<br>O'er his shoulders with large cipher eye-balls I look,<br>And down drops the pen from his paralyz'd paw!<br>When the Premier lies dreaming of dear Waterloo,<br>And expects through another to caper and prank it,<br>You'd laugh did you see, when I bellow out &quot;Boo!&quot;<br>How he hides his brave Waterloo head in the blanket.<br>When mighty Belshazzar brims high in the hall<br>His cup, full of gout, to Gaul's overthrow,<br>Lo, &quot;Eight Hundred Millions&quot; I write on the wall,<br>And the cup falls to earth and -- the gout to his toe!<br>But the joy of my heart is when largely I cram<br>My maw with the fruits of the Squirearchy's acres,<br>And, knowing who made me the thing that I am,<br>Like the monster of Frankenstein, worry my makers.<br>Then riddle-me-ree, come, riddle-me-ree,<br>And tell, if thou knows't, who I may be.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Thomas+Moore">Thomas Moore</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=529950" data-title="Enigma de Thomas Moore" data-description="Come riddle-me-ree, come riddle-me-ree,
And tell me, what my name may be.
I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old,
And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose; --
Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have told),
I have, ev'ry year since,..."></div>
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