Infinite riches in a little room.
MARLOWE: _The Jew of Malta,_ Act i.
Extol not riches then, the toil of fools,
The wise man's cumbrance, if not snare; more apt
To slacken virtue, and abate her edge,
Than prompt her to do aught may merit praise.
MILTON: _Par. Regained,_ Bk ii., Line 453.