“Æneas, I’ll repair thy Trojan ships Conditionally that thou wilt stay with me, And let Achates sail to Italy; I’ll give thee tackling made of rivelled gold, Wound on the barks of odoriferous trees; Oars of massy ivory, full of holes Through which the water shall delight to play; Thy anchors shall be hewed from crystal rocks Which, if thou lose, shall shine above the waves; The masts whereon thy swelling sails shall hang Hollow pyramides of silver plate; The sails of folded lawn, where shall be wrought The wars of Troy, but not Troy’s overthrow; For ballast, empty Dido’s treasury; Take what ye will, but leave Æneas here. Achates, thou shalt be so seemly clad As sea-born nymphs shall swarm about thy ships And wanton mermaids court thee with sweet songs, Flinging in favors of more sovereign worth Than Thetis hangs about Apollo’s neck, So that Æneas may but stay with me.” But far finer than this, in the same costly way, is the speech of Barabas in “The Jew of Malta,” ending with a line that has incorporated itself in the language with the familiarity of a proverb:-- “Give me the merchants of the Indian mines That trade in metal of the purest mould; The wealthy Moor that in the Eastern rocks Without control can pick his riches up, And in his house heap pearl like pebble-stones, Receive them free, and sell them by the weight; Bags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts, Jacynths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds, Beauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds, And seld-seen costly stones of so great price As one of them, indifferently rated, * * * * * May serve in peril of calamity To ransom great kings from captivity. This is the ware wherein consists my wealth: * * * * * Infinite riches in a little room.” This is the very poetry of avarice.