To forge me bolts?--and then--but hush! 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 petition for relief.

_Mid._ Relief I Bring me your copper coin, your brass,
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,