"There is the sea—shall any stanch it up?— Still breeding, for its worth of silver weight, Abundant stain, freshly renewable, For purpling robes withal: nay, Heaven be praised, The house, my lord, affords us plenty such; ’Tis not acquainted yet with penury. I had vowed the trampling of a thousand robes, Had the oracles enjoined it when I sought Means for recovery of a life so precious!"