Ores are brought to bank.

What are we set on earth for? Say, to toil— / Nor seek to leave thy tending of the vines, / For all the heat o' the day, till it declines, / And Death's mild curfew shall from work assoil.

He said he liked you. At least, not in so many words, but that was the idea.

“Like Sleeping Beauty, you mean,” I said. Henry nodded. His handsome face was very worried, and I didn't know him long enough to read him that well. “They came and saw the garden, and it was very Seelie, my lord. More than that, none.”