The Book of Riddles

'Tis true I have both face and hands, And move before your eyes, Yet when I go, my body stands, And when I stand, I lie.
A Clock.


My clothing's fine as velvet rare, Though under earth my dwellings are; And when above it I appear, My enemies put me oft in fear. The gard'ner does at me repine, I spoil his works as he does mine.
The Mole.