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.
Not as I--I am a God! Look, dunce!
I tread or leap beneath this load of gold!

(_Jumps & stops suddenly._)

I've hurt my back:--this cloak is wondrous hard!
No more of this! my appetite would say
The hour is come for my noon-day repast.

_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]