The Avaricious

I would be as great a toil to count
The waves upon the shore, when the wind
Drives them to land along the surface
Of the green sea, or to wash
The dirty brick clean
With violet-colored water,
As to overreach the man who is a slave to avarice.
Away with such an one!
Let him have silver without end,
Yet always let the desire
Of a greater store possess him.
But I should prefer the respect
And esteem of men to myriads of mules and horses.