Answer:
I'm a kind of cup that doesn't hold water, but makes a lot of noise repeatedly. What am I?
I think you live beneath a roof that is upheld by me; I think you seldom walk abroad but my fair form you see; I close you in on every side you very dwelling pave and probably I'll go with you At last into the grave.
I can be cracked made told and played.
What is easy to get into but hard to get out of?
I drive men mad for love of me, easily beaten, never free. What am I?
If I say "everything I tell you is a lie", am I telling you the truth or a lie?