Give me the merchants of the Indian minesnnThat trade in metal of the purest mold,nnThe wealthy Moor that in the eastern rocksnnWithout control can pick his riches upnnAnd in his house heap pearl like pebble-stones,nnReceive them free and sell them by the weight.nnBags of fiery opals, sapphires, amethysts,nnJacinths, hard topaz, grass-green emeralds,nnBeauteous rubies, sparkling diamonds,nnAnd seld-seen costly stones of so great pricennAs one of them, indifferently ratednnAnd of a carat of this quantity,nnMay serve in peril of calamitynnTo ransom great kings from captivitynnThis is the ware wherein consists my wealth.nnAnd thus methinks should men of judgment framennTheir means of traffic from the vulgar trade,nnAnd as their wealth increaseth, so enclosennInfinite riches in a little room.nnBut now how stands the wind?nnInto what corner peers my halcyon's bill?nnHa! To the east? Yes; see how stands the vanes!nnEast and by south; why then I hope my shipsnnI sent for Egypt and the bordering islesnnAre gotten up by Nilus' winding banks.nnMine argosy from Alexandria,nnLoaden with spice and silks, now under sail,nnAre smoothly gliding down by Candy shorennTo Malta, through our Mediterranean sea.