I am small, but, when entire, of force to set a town on fire. Let but one letter disappear, I then can hold a herd of deer. Take one more off, and then you'll find I once contained all human kind. What am I?
I am a merry creature in pleasant time of year, As in but certain seasons, I sing that you can hear and yet I'm made a by-word, A very perfect mock. Compared to foolish persons and silliest of all folk. What am I?
Four wings I have, which swiftly mount on high, on sturdy pinions, yet I never fly. And though my body often moves around, upon the self-same spot I'm always found, and, like a mother, who breaks her infant's bread. I chew for man before he can be fed. What am I?