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.

_Zopyr._ (_aside_) He'd better now have followed my advice.
He starves by gold yet keeps his asses' ears. [57]

_Mid._ Asphalion, put that apple to my mouth;