A Riddle
A Lady once did aske of me,
This preatie thing in privitie:
Good sir (quod she) faine would I crave,
One thing which you your selfe not have:
Nor never had yet in times past,
Nor never shall while life doth last.
And if you seeke to find it out,
You loose your labour out of doubt:
Yet if you love me as you say,
Then give it me, for sure you may.
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