Proserpine and Midas Part 8

_Asph._ There is no woman here.

_Bac._ Calm yourself, Midas; none believe the tale, Some impious man or gamesome faun dares feign In vile contempt of your most royal ears.

Off with your crown, & shew the world the lie!

_Mid._ (_holding his crown tight_) Never! What[!] shall a vile calumnious slave Dictate the actions of a crowned king?

Zopyrion, this lie springs from you--you peris.h.!.+

_Zopy._ I, say that Midas has got a.s.ses' ears?

May great Apollo strike me with his shaft If to a single soul I ever told So false, so foul a calumny!

_Bac._ Midas! [50]

_The Reeds._ Midas, the king, has the ears of an a.s.s.

_Bac._ Silence! or by my G.o.dhead I strike dead Who shall again insult the n.o.ble king.

Midas, you are my friend, for you have saved And hospitably welcomed my old faun; Choose your reward, for here I swear your wish, Whatever it may be, shall be fulfilled.

_Zopyr. (aside)_ Sure he will wish his a.s.ses' ears in Styx.

_Midas._ What[!] may I choose from out the deep, rich mine Of human fancy, & the wildest thoughts That pa.s.sed till now unheeded through my brain, A wish, a hope, to be fulfilled by you?

Nature shall bend her laws at my command, And I possess as my reward one thing That I have longed for with unceasing care.

_Bac._ Pause, n.o.ble king, ere you express this wish[.]

Let not an error or rash folly spoil My benefaction; pause and then declare, For what you ask shall be, as I have sworn.

_Mid._ Let all I touch be gold, most glorious gold!

Let me be rich! and where I stretch my hands, [51]

(That like Orion I could touch the stars!) Be radiant gold! G.o.d Bacchus, you have sworn, I claim your word,--my ears are quite forgot!

_The Reeds._ Midas, the king, has the ears of an a.s.s.

_Mid._ You lie, & yet I care not--

_Zopyr._ (_aside to Midas_) Yet might I But have advised your Majesty, I would Have made one G.o.d undo the other's work--

_Midas._ (_aside to Zopyr_).

Advise yourself, my friend, or you may grow Shorter by a head ere night.--I am blessed, Happier than ever earthly man could boast.

Do you fulfil your words?

_Bac._ Yes, thoughtless man!

And much I fear if you have not the ears You have the judgement of an a.s.s. Farewel!

I found you rich & happy; & I leave you, Though you know it not, miserably poor.

Your boon is granted,--touch! make gold! Some here Help carry old Silenus off, who sleeps The divine sleep of heavy wine. Farewel!

_Mid._ Bacchus, divine, how shall I pay my thanks[?]

(_Exeunt._)

END OF FIRST ACT.

ACT II.

_Scene; a splendid apartment in the Palace of Midas._

_Enter Midas (with a golden rose in his hand)._

_Mid._ Gold! glorious gold! I am made up of gold!

I pluck a rose, a silly, fading rose, Its soft, pink petals change to yellow gold; Its stem, its leaves are gold--and what before Was fit for a poor peasant's festal dress May now adorn a Queen. I lift a stone, A heavy, useless ma.s.s, a slave would spurn, What is more valueless? 'Tis solid gold!

A king might war on me to win the same.

And as I pa.s.s my hand thus through the air, A little shower of sightless dust falls down A shower of gold. O, now I am a king!

I've spread my hands against my palace walls, I've set high ladders up, that I may touch Each crevice and each cornice with my hands, And it will all be gold:--a golden palace, Surrounded by a wood of golden trees, Which will bear golden fruits.--The very ground My naked foot treads on is yellow gold, Invaluable gold! my dress is gold! [53]

Now I am great! Innumerable armies Wait till my gold collects them round my throne; I see my standard made of woven gold.

Waving o'er Asia's utmost Citadels, Guarded by myriads invincible.

Or if the toil of war grows wearisome, I can buy Empires:--India shall be mine, Its blooming beauties, gold-encrusted baths, Its aromatic groves and palaces, All will be mine! Oh, Midas, a.s.s-eared king!

I love thee more than any words can tell, That thus thy touch, thou man akin to G.o.ds, Can change all earth to heaven,--Olympian gold!

For what makes heaven different from earth!

Look how my courtiers come! Magnificent!

None shall dare wait on me but those who bear An empire on their backs in sheets of gold.

Oh, what a slave I was! my flocks & kine, My vineyards & my corn were all my wealth And men esteemed me rich; but now Great Jove Transcends me but by lightning, and who knows If my gold win not the Cyclopean Powers, And Vulcan, who must hate his father's rule, To forge me bolts?--and then--but hus.h.!.+ they come. [54]

_Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion, & Lacon._

_Lac._ Pardon us, mighty king--

_Mid._ What would ye, slaves?

Oh! I could buy you all with one slight touch Of my gold-making hand!

_Asph._ Royal Midas, We humbly would pet.i.tion for relief.

_Mid._ Relief I Bring me your copper coin, your bra.s.s, Or what ye will--ye'll speedily be rich.

_Zopyr._ 'Tis not for gold, but to be rid of gold, That we intrude upon your Majesty.

I fear that you will suffer by this gift, As we do now. Look at our backs bent down With the huge weight of the great cloaks of gold.

Permit us to put on our shabby dress, Our poor despised garments of light wool:-- We walk as porters underneath a load.

Pity, great king, our human weaknesses, Nor force us to expire--

_Mid._ Begone, ye slaves!

Go clothe your wretched limbs in ragged skins!

Take an old carpet to wrap round your legs, A broad leaf for your feet--ye shall not wear [55]

That dress--those golden sandals--monarch like.

_Asph._ If you would have us walk a mile a day We cannot thus--already we are tired With the huge weight of soles of solid gold.

_Mid._ Pitiful wretches! Earth-born, groveling dolts!

Begone! nor dare reply to my just wrath!

Never behold me more! or if you stay Let not a sigh, a shrug, a stoop betray What poor, weak, miserable men you are.