more?

What more?

Good heaven, you surely ask no more?

I do. It’s not enough.Then name your price.
NABOTH. I cannot be buyer and seller both.
JEZEBEL. Then I will offer these: a bale of scarlet, A camel-load of wool, woven or raw, Three tent-rugs such as desert tribesmen weave, Three desert-cushions made of coloured leather, And one sealed roll of linen from the Nile, The deckings of a house, in fact. With these, Something to gladden dwellers in the house, A score of honey, and a man-sized jar Of olive oil, a measure of fine flour, A pack of dates and seven porters’ loads Of matured wine; the feastings of a house.
With these, I offer treasures for your house: Gums from Arabia to burn as perfumes, A tusk of ivory two cubits long, A bar of silver from the mines of Bakht, A casket made of turkis filled with beryl, A piece of gold, the size of a man’s hand.
NABOTH. I want no ivory nor gold nor scarlet, Nor silver bars nor trash nor vanity.
MICAIAH. Good Madam, might it not be wise to offer Stock for his farm?
JEZEBEL. Take horses, then, or oxen To till your holding.
NABOTH. I will not take them, then.
MICAIAH. Would you not like them?
NABOTH. No; I do without; I need nor horse nor ass, nor cow nor camel.
JEZEBEL. What can I offer?
NABOTH. Sacrifice to the God of Israel.
JEZEBEL. I do not offer that.
NABOTH. You are not one To search unto the spirit, nor be single Within your heart. You are possessed by things; Dead things, with stink and colour, brought in ships; Your purples and the jewels for your hair, Your ivory room, God save us! you being mortal, Dwelling in ivory, while God himself Lives in the wooden room darkened by wings.
MICAIAH. Yes, Naboth; but reserve this for the feast, Where those who hear it will enjoy it more Than we do here.
NABOTH. I do not speak to you.
JEZEBEL. No, Naboth, you are speaking to your Queen, Who bids you to be silent, if you care To keep whole bones. Come from him, then, Micaiah.
Hear a last offer, Naboth; you are old, Soon to become infirm, soon to bear pain. And find it weariness to cross the room. Might I not set provision for old age Against your vineyard? Might I settle on you A pension that would bring you quietness And what age loves, respect and ease and state; Might we not give you rank, as Elder, say, With pay and servants fitting to the rank; These things to be assured to you for life, And after, to your son?
NABOTH. I have no son. My son was killed while fighting for King Ahab In this last war. I will not sell my vineyard For all the rank, for all the slaves and ease In this realm that you make the gate of hell. God blot me from the record of the blest If I give up my 

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