_Lac._ It comes borne in by twenty lusty slaves,
Who scarce can lift the mass of solid gold,
That lately was a table of light wood.
Here is the heavy golden ewer & bowl,
In which, before you eat, you wash your hands.
_Mid._ (_lifting up the ewer_)
This is to be a king! to touch pure gold!
Would that by touching thee, Zopyrion, [56]
I could transmute thee to a golden man;
A crowd of golden slaves to wait on me!
(_Pours the water on his hands._)
But how is this? the water that I touch
Falls down a stream of yellow liquid gold,
And hardens as it falls. I cannot wash--
Pray Bacchus, I may drink! and the soft towel
With which I'd wipe my hands transmutes itself
Into a sheet of heavy gold.--No more!
I'll sit and eat:--I have not tasted food
For many hours, I have been so wrapt
In golden dreams of all that I possess,
I had not time to eat; now hunger calls
And makes me feel, though not remote in power
From the immortal Gods, that I need food,
The only remnant of mortality!
(_In vain attempts to eat of several dishes._)
Alas! my fate! 'tis gold! this peach is gold!
This bread, these grapes & all I touch! this meat
Which by its scent quickened my appetite
Has lost its scent, its taste,--'tis useless gold.
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