Merry's Book of Puzzles

Figures, they say, won’t lie; but here

Is something either false or queer.

I find that, in my family,

One taken from two still leaves me three,

And two from two, by the same score,

Leaves a remainder of just four.

My first is a measure much used in the East,

Or a close-covered vehicle drawn by one beast;

My second is a prefix—a small preposition—

Two thirds of a tavern—a paid politician;

My whole, though part of a vessel, has stood

Alone on the prairie, or ’neath the great wood,

And often is found, poor, wretched, and mean,

The city’s proud palaces squatting between.