Mons. What, woman, what are those portions?
Per. Riddle my riddle, my lord.
Mons. I, marry, wench, I think thy portion
is a right riddle; a man shall never finde it out:
but let's heare it.[265]
Per. You shall, my lord.
What's that, that being most rar's most cheap?
That when you sow, you never reap?
That when it growes most, most you [th]in it,
And still you lose it, when you win it?[270]