Crop

Cymbeline, [1.6.32-38]. Iachimo. “What, are men mad? Hath nature given them eyes/ To see this vaulted arch and the rich crop/ Of sea and land, which can distinguish ‘twixt/ The fiery orbs above and the twinn’d stones/ Upon the number’d beach, and can we not/ Partition make with spectacles so precious/ ‘Twixt fair and foul?”