First Traveller: What's that lying in the dust? 
Second Traveller: A crooked stick. 
First Traveller: What's it worth, if you can trust to arithmetic? 
Second Traveller: Isn't this a riddle? 
First Traveller: No, a trick. 
Second Traveller:It's worthless, leave it where it lies. 
First Traveller: Wait; count ten; 
Rub a little dust upon your eyes; 
Now, look again. 
Second Traveller: Well, and what the devil is it, then? 
First Traveller: It's the sort of crooked stick that shepherds know. 
Second Traveller: Someone's loss! 
First Traveller: Bend it, and you make of it a bow. 
Break it, a cross. 
Second Traveller: But it's all grown over with moss!