Answer:
We travel much, yet prisoners are, and close confined to boot. Yet with any horse, we will keep the pace, and will always go on foot.
Who is he that runs without a leg. And his house on his back?
What dress does everyone have, but no one wears?
A seed am I, three letters make my name. Take away two and I still sound the same.
A slow, solemn square-dance of warriors feinting. One by one they fall, warriors fainting, thirty-two on sixty-four.
People take me on walks and I run and have fun. What am I?