MIDAS.ACT I.Scene; a rural spot; on one side, a bare Hill, on the other an Ilex wood; a stream with reeds on its banks.The Curtain rises and discovers Tmolus seated on a throne of turf, on his right hand Apollo with his lyre, attended by the Muses; on the left, Pan, fauns, &c.Enter Midas and Zopyrion.MIDAS.The Hours have oped the palace of the dawnAnd through the Eastern gates of Heaven, AuroraComes charioted on light, her wind-swift steeds,Winged with roseate clouds, strain up the steep.She loosely holds the reins, her golden hair,Its strings outspread by the sweet morning breeze[,]Blinds the pale stars. Our rural tasks begin;The young lambs bleat pent up within the fold,The herds low in their stalls, & the blithe cockHalloos most loudly to his distant mates.But who are these we see? these are not men,Divine of form & sple[n]didly arrayed,They sit in solemn conclave. Is that Pan,Our Country God, surrounded by his Fauns?And who is he whose crown of gold & harpAre attributes of high Apollo?ZOPYRION.BestYour majesty retire; we may offend.MIDAS.Aye, and at the base thought the coward bloodDeserts your trembling lips; but follow me.Oh Gods! for such your bearing is, & sureNo mortal ever yet possessed the goldThat glitters on your silken robes; may one,Who, though a king, can boast of no descentMore noble than Deucalion’s stone-formed men[,]May I demand the cause for which you deignTo print upon this worthless Phrygian earthThe vestige of your gold-inwoven sandals,Or why that old white-headed man sits thereUpon that grassy throne, & looks as heWere stationed umpire to some weighty cause[?]TMOLUS.God Pan with his blithe pipe which the Fauns loveHas challenged Phœbus of the golden lyre[,]Saying his Syrinx can give sweeter notesThan the stringed instrument Apollo boasts.I judge between the parties. Welcome, King,I am old Tmolus, God of that bare Hill,You may remain and hear th’ Immortals sing.MIDAS.[aside] My judgement is made up before I hear;Pan is my guardian God, old-horned Pan,The Phrygian’s God who watches o’er our flocks;No harmony can equal his blithe pipe.(Shelley.)Apollo (sings).The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,Curtained with star-enwoven tapestries,From the broad moonlight of the sky,Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyesWaken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn,Tells them that dreams & that the moon is gone.Then I arise, and climbing Heaven’s blue dome,I walk over the mountains & the waves,Leaving my robe upon the Ocean foam,—My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the cavesAre filled with my bright presence & the airLeaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.The sunbeams are my shafts with which I killDeceit, that loves the night & fears the day;All men who do, or even imagine illFly me, and from the glory of my rayGood minds and open actions take new mightUntil diminished by the reign of night.I feed the clouds, the rainbows & the flowersWith their etherial colours; the moon’s globeAnd the pure stars in their eternal bowersAre cinctured with my power as with a robe;Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shineAre portions of one power, which is mine.I stand at noon upon the peak of heaven,Then with unwilling steps I wander downInto the clouds of the Atlantic even—For grief that I depart they weep & frown [;]What look is more delightful than the smileWith which I soothe them from the western isle [?]I am the eye with which the UniverseBeholds itself & knows it is divine.All harmony of instrument or verse,All prophecy, all medecine is mine;All light of art or nature;—to my songVictory and praise, in its own right, belong.(Shelley.)Pan (sings).From the forests and highlandsWe come, we come;From the river-girt islandsW[h]ere loud waves are dumb,Listening my sweet pipings;The wind in the reeds & the rushes,The bees on the bells of thyme,The birds on the myrtle bushes[,]The cicale above in the lime[,]And the lizards below in the grass,Were as silent as ever old Tmolus wasListening my sweet pipings.Liquid Peneus was flowing,And all dark Tempe layIn Pelion’s shadow, outgrowingThe light of the dying daySpeeded by my sweet pipings.The Sileni, & Sylvans, & FaunsAnd the nymphs of the woods & the wavesTo the edge of the moist river-lawns,And the brink of the dewy caves[,]And all that did then attend & followWere silent with love, as you now, Apollo!With envy of my sweet pipings.I sang of the dancing stars,I sang of the daedal Earth—-And of heaven—& the giant wars—And Love, & death, [&] birth,And then I changed my pipings,Singing how down the vale of Menalus,I pursued a maiden & clasped a reed,Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!It breaks in our bosom & then we bleed!All wept, as I think both ye now wouldIf envy or age had not frozen your blood,At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.TMOLUS.Phœbus, the palm is thine. The Fauns may danceTo the blithe tune of ever merry Pan;But wisdom, beauty, & the power divineOf highest poesy lives within thy strain.Named by the Gods the King of melody,Receive from my weak hands a second crown.PAN.Old Grey-beard, you say false! you think by thisTo win Apollo with his sultry beamsTo thaw your snowy head, & to renewThe worn out soil of your bare, ugly hill.I do appeal to Phrygian Midas here;Let him decide, he is no partial judge.MIDAS.Immortal Pan, to my poor, mortal earsYour sprightly song in melody outweighsHis drowsy tune; he put me fast asleep,As my prime minister, Zopyrion, knows;But your gay notes awoke me, & to you,If I were Tmolus, would I give the prize.APOLLO.And who art thou who dar’st among the GodsMingle thy mortal voice? Insensate fool!Does not the doom of Marsyas fill with dreadThy impious soul? or would’st thou also beAnother victim to my justest wrath?But fear no more;—thy punishment shall beBut as a symbol of thy blunted sense.Have asses’ ears! and thus to the whole worldWear thou the marks of what thou art,Let Pan himself blush at such a judge.[1](Exeunt all exceptMidas & Zopyrion.)MIDAS.What said he? is it true, Zopyrion?Yet if it be; you must not look on me,But shut your eyes, nor dare behold my shame.Ah! here they are! two long, smooth asses[’] ears!They stick upright! Ah, I am sick with shame!ZOPYRION.I cannot tell your Majesty my grief,Or how my soul’s oppressed with the sad changeThat has, alas! befallen your royal ears.MIDAS.A truce to your fine speeches now, Zopyrion;To you it appertains to find some modeOf hiding my sad chance, if not you die.ZOPYRION.Great King, alas! my thoughts are dull & slow[;]Pardon my folly, might they not be cut,Rounded off handsomely, like human ears [?]MIDAS.(feeling his ears)They’re long & thick; I fear ’twould give me pain;And then if vengeful Phœbus should commandAnother pair to grow—that will not do.ZOPYRION.You wear a little crown of carved gold,Which just appears to tell you are a king;If that were large and had a cowl of silk,Studded with gems, which none would dare gainsay,Then might you—MIDAS.Now you have it! friend,I will reward you with some princely gift.But, hark! Zopyrion, not a word of this;If to a single soul you tell my shameYou die. I’ll to the palace the back wayAnd manufacture my new diadem,The which all other kings shall imitateAs if they also had my asses[’] ears.(Exit.)ZOPYRION.(watching Midas off)He cannot hear me now, and I may laugh!I should have burst had he staid longer here.Two long, smooth asses’ ears that stick upright;Oh, that Apollo had but made him bray!I’ll to the palace; there I’ll laugh my fillWith—hold! What were the last words that Midas said?I may not speak—not to my friends discloseThe strangest tale? ha! ha! and when I laughI must not tell the cause? none know the truth?None know King Midas has—but who comes here?It is Asphalion: he knows not this change;I must look grave & sad; for now a smileIf Midas knows it may prove capital.Yet when I think of those—oh! I shall die,In either way, by silence or by speech.Enter Asphalion.ASPHALION.Know you, Zopyrion?—ZOPYRION.What[!] you know it too?Then I may laugh;—oh, what relief is this!How does he look, the courtiers gathering round?Does he hang down his head, & his ears too?Oh, I shall die! (laughs.)ASPHALION.He is a queer old dog,Yet not so laughable. ’Tis true, he’s drunk,And sings and reels under the broad, green leaves,And hanging clusters of his crown of grapes.—ZOPYRION.A crown of grapes! but can that hide his ears[?]ASPHALION.His ears!—Oh, no! they stick upright between.When Midas saw him—ZOPYRION.Whom then do you mean?Did you not say—ASPHALION.I spoke of old Silenus;Who having missed his way in these wild woods,And lost his tipsey company—was foundSucking the juicy clusters of the vinesThat sprung where’er he trod:—and reeling onSome shepherds found him in yon ilex wood.They brought him to the king, who honouring himFor Bacchus’ sake, has gladly welcomed him,And will conduct him with solemnityTo the disconsolate Fauns from whom he’s strayed.But have you seen the new-fashioned diadem[2]That Midas wears?—ZOPYRION.Ha! he has got it on!—Know you the secret cause why with such careHe hides his royal head? you have not seen—ASPHALION.Seen what?ZOPYRION.Ah! then, no matter:— (turns away agitated.)I dare not sneak or stay[;]If I remain I shall discover all.ASPHALION.I see the king has trusted to your careSome great state secret which you fain would hide.I am your friend, trust my fidelity,If you’re in doubt I’ll be your counsellor.ZOPYRION.(with great importance.)Secret, Asphalion! How came you to know?If my great master (which I do not say)Should think me a fit friend in whom to pourThe weighty secrets of his royal heart,Shall I betray his trust? It is not so;—I am a poor despised slave.—No more!Join we the festal band which will conductSilenus to his woods again?ASPHALION.My friend,Wherefore mistrust a faithful heart? ConfideThe whole to me;—I will be still as death.ZOPYRION.As death! you know not what you say; farewell[!]A little will I commune with my soul,And then I’ll join you at the palace-gate.ASPHALION.Will you then tell me?—ZOPYRION.Cease to vex, my friend,Your soul and mine with false suspicion, (aside) Oh!I am choked! I’d give full ten years of my lifeTo tell, to laugh—& yet I dare not speak.ASPHALION.Zopyrion, remember that you hurtThe trusting bosom of a faithful friendBy your unjust concealment.(Exit.)ZOPYRION.Oh, he’s gone!To him I dare not speak, nor yet to Lacon;No human ears may hear what must be told.I cannot keep it in, assuredly;I shall some night discuss it in my sleep.It will not keep! Oh! greenest reeds that swayAnd nod your feathered heads beneath the sun,Be you depositaries of my soul,Be you my friends in this extremity[:]I shall not risk my head when I tell youThe fatal truth, the heart oppressing fact,(stooping down & whispering)That royal Midas has got asses’ ears.Oh! how my soul’s relieved! I feel so light!Although you cannot thank me for my trust,Dear, faithful reeds, I love you tenderly;Mute friends, ye helped me in my greatest need.Farewel! I know ye will be still as death;Nor tell the passing winds or running waves(stoops and whispers)That royal Midas has got asses’ ears.(sees Bacchus, starts up in fear, & stands behind watching.)Enter Bacchus.BACCHUS.I have wandered many hours through the pathsAnd wildernesses of that ilex wood,Tracing where’er I went my tipsey friendBy the red juice of grapes that stained the ground,And by the curling branches of the vinesThat, springing where he trod, have curled aroundThe knotty trunks of those eternal trees.I too have lost my way; nor can I tellTo what barbarian land the wanderer’s come.I hope no power contemptuous of mineHas hurt my foster-father;—Who comes here?’Tis he surrounded by a jocund throngOf priests and bacchant women, bearing spearsBlunted with pine cones & with ivy wreathed,And here and there they cry, “Bacchus! Evoe!”As if the Nysian impulse just began.And who is he who with a stately crownOutshines the rest? He seems to be a king;But were he even an ass on his hind legsHe shall have rich reward if he have savedAnd welcomed with due honour my old faun.(Enter Midas, Silenus & others, who fall back during the scene; Midas is always anxious about his crown, & Zopyrion gets behind him & tries to smother his laughter.)SILENUS.(very drunk) Again I find you, Bacchus, runaway!Welcome, my glorious boy! Another timeStray not; or leave your poor old foster-fatherIn the wild mazes of a wood, in whichI might have wandered many hundred years,Had not some merry fellows helped me out,And had not this king kindly welcomed me,I might have fared more ill than you erewhileIn Pentheus’ prisons, that death fated rogue.BACCHUS.(to Midas.) To you I owe great thanks & will rewardYour hospitality. Tell me your nameAnd what this country is.MIDAS.My name is Midas—THE REEDS.(nodding their heads).Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.MIDAS.(turning round & seizing Zopyrion).Villain, you lie! he dies who shall repeatThose traitrous words. Seize on Zopyrion!THE REEDS.Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.MIDAS.Search through the crowd; it is a woman’s voiceThat dares belie her king, & makes her lifeA forfeit to his fury.ASPHALION.There is no woman here.BACCHUS.Calm yourself, Midas; none believe the tale,Some impious man or gamesome faun dares feignIn vile contempt of your most royal ears.Off with your crown, & shew the world the lie!MIDAS.(holding his crown tight)Never! What[!] shall a vile calumnious slaveDictate the actions of a crowned king?Zopyrion, this lie springs from you—you perish!ZOPYRION.I, say that Midas has got asses’ ears?May great Apollo strike me with his shaftIf to a single soul I ever toldSo false, so foul a calumny!BACCHUS.Midas!THE REEDS.Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.BACCHUS.Silence! or by my Godhead I strike deadWho shall again insult the noble king.Midas, you are my friend, for you have savedAnd hospitably welcomed my old faun;Choose your reward, for here I swear your wish,Whatever it may be, shall be fulfilled.ZOPYRION.(aside) Sure he will wish his asses’ ears in Styx.MIDAS.What[!] may I choose from out the deep, rich mineOf human fancy, & the wildest thoughtsThat passed 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 thingThat I have longed for with unceasing care.BACCHUS.Pause, noble king, ere you express this wish[.]Let not an error or rash folly spoilMy benefaction; pause and then declare,For what you ask shall be, as I have sworn.MIDAS.Let all I touch be gold, most glorious gold!Let me be rich! and where I stretch my hands,(That like Orion I could touch the stars!)Be radiant gold! God Bacchus, you have sworn,I claim your word,—my ears are quite forgot!THE REEDS.Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.MIDAS.You lie, & yet I care not—ZOPYRION.(aside to Midas) Yet might IBut have advised your Majesty, I wouldHave made one God undo the other’s work—MIDAS.(aside to Zopyr).Advise yourself, my friend, or you may growShorter by a head ere night.—I am blessed,Happier than ever earthly man could boast.Do you fulfil your words?BACCHUS.Yes, thoughtless man!And much I fear if you have not the earsYou have the judgement of an ass. Farewel!I found you rich & happy; & I leave you,Though you know it not, miserably poor.Your boon is granted,—touch! make gold! Some hereHelp carry old Silenus off, who sleepsThe divine sleep of heavy wine. Farewel!MIDAS.Bacchus, divine, how shall I pay my thanks[?](Exeunt.)END OF FIRST ACT.Footnotes[1]A syllable here, a whole foot in the previous line, appear to be missing.[2]Another halting line. Cf. again, p. [47], 1. 3; p. [55], 1. 11; p. [59], 1.1; p. [61], 1. 1; p. [64], 1. 14.]ACT IIScene; a splendid apartment in the Palace of Midas.Enter Midas(with a golden rose in his hand).MIDAS.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 beforeWas fit for a poor peasant’s festal dressMay now adorn a Queen. I lift a stone,A heavy, useless mass, a slave would spurn,What is more valueless? ’Tis solid gold!A king might war on me to win the same.And as I pass my hand thus through the air,A little shower of sightless dust falls downA 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 touchEach 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 groundMy naked foot treads on is yellow gold,Invaluable gold! my dress is gold!Now I am great! Innumerable armiesWait 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, ass-eared king!I love thee more than any words can tell,That thus thy touch, thou man akin to Gods,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 bearAn empire on their backs in sheets of gold.Oh, what a slave I was! my flocks & kine,My vineyards & my corn were all my wealthAnd men esteemed me rich; but now Great JoveTranscends me but by lightning, and who knowsIf my gold win not the Cyclopean Powers,And Vulcan, who must hate his father’s rule,To forge me bolts?—and then—but hush! they come.Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion, & Lacon.LACON.Pardon us, mighty king—MIDAS.What would ye, slaves?Oh! I could buy you all with one slight touchOf my gold-making hand!ASPHALION.Royal Midas,We humbly would petition for relief.MIDAS.Relief I Bring me your copper coin, your brass,Or what ye will—ye’ll speedily be rich.ZOPYRION.’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 downWith 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—MIDAS.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 wearThat dress—those golden sandals—monarch like.ASPHALION.If you would have us walk a mile a dayWe cannot thus—already we are tiredWith the huge weight of soles of solid gold.MIDAS.Pitiful wretches! Earth-born, groveling dolts!Begone! nor dare reply to my just wrath!Never behold me more! or if you stayLet not a sigh, a shrug, a stoop betrayWhat 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 sayThe hour is come for my noon-day repast.LACON.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.MIDAS.(lifting up the ewer)This is to be a king! to touch pure gold!Would that by touching thee, Zopyrion,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 touchFalls down a stream of yellow liquid gold,And hardens as it falls. I cannot wash—Pray Bacchus, I may drink! and the soft towelWith which I’d wipe my hands transmutes itselfInto a sheet of heavy gold.—No more!I’ll sit and eat:—I have not tasted foodFor many hours, I have been so wraptIn golden dreams of all that I possess,I had not time to eat; now hunger callsAnd makes me feel, though not remote in powerFrom 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 meatWhich by its scent quickened my appetiteHas lost its scent, its taste,—’tis useless gold.ZOPYRION.(aside) He’d better now have followed my advice.He starves by gold yet keeps his asses’ ears.MIDAS.Asphalion, put that apple to my mouth;If my hands touch it not perhaps I eat.Alas! I cannot bite! as it approachedI felt its fragrance, thought it would be mine,But by the touch of my life-killing lips’Tis changed from a sweet fruit to tasteless gold,Bacchus will not refresh me by his gifts,The liquid wine congeals and flies my taste.Go, miserable slaves! Oh, wretched king!Away with food! Its sight now makes me sick.Bring in my couch! I will sleep off my care,And when I wake I’ll coin some remedy.I dare not bathe this sultry day, for fearI be enclosed in gold. Begone!I will to rest:—oh, miserable king!(Exeunt all but Midas. He lies down, turns restlessly for some time & then rises.)Oh! fool! to wish to change all things to gold!Blind Ideot that I was! This bed is gold;And this hard, weighty pillow, late so soft,That of itself invited me to rest,Is a hard lump, that if I sleep and turnI may beat out my brains against its sides.Oh! what a wretched thing I am! how blind!I cannot eat, for all my food is gold;Drink flies my parched lips, and my hard couchIs worse than rock to my poor bruised sides.I cannot walk; the weight of my gold solesPulls me to earth:—my back is broke beneathThese gorgeous garments— (throws off his cloak)Lie there, golden cloak!There on thy kindred earth, lie there and rot!I dare not touch my forehead with my palmFor fear my very flesh should turn to gold.Oh! let me curse thee, vilest, yellow dirt!Here, on my knees, thy martyr lifts his voice,A poor, starved wretch who can touch nought but thee[,]Wilt thou refresh me in the heat of noon?Canst thou be kindled for me when I’m cold?May all men, & the immortal Gods,Hate & spurn thee as wretched I do now.(Kicks the couch, & tries to throw down the pillow but cannot lift it.)I’d dash, thee to the earth, but that thy weightPreserves thee, abhorred, Tartarian Gold!Bacchus, O pity, pardon, and restore me!Who waits?Enter Lacon.Go bid the priests that they prepareMost solemn song and richest sacrifise;—Which I may not dare touch, lest it should turnTo most unholy gold.LACON.Pardon me, oh King,But perhaps the God may give that you may eat,And yet your touch be magic.MIDAS.No more, thou slave!Gold is my fear, my bane, my death! I hateIts yellow glare, its aspect hard and cold.I would be rid of all.—Go bid them haste.(ExitLacon.)Oh, Bacchus I be propitious to their prayer!Make me a hind, clothe me in ragged skins—And let my food be bread, unsavoury roots,But take from me the frightful curse of gold.Am I not poor? Alas! how I am changed!Poorer than meanest slaves, my piles of wealthCannot buy for me one poor, wretched dish:—In summer heat I cannot bathe, nor wearA linen dress; the heavy, dull, hard metalClings to me till I pray for poverty.Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion & Lacon.ZOPYRION.The sacrifice is made, & the great God,Pitying your ills, oh King, accepted it,Whilst his great oracle gave forth these words.“Let poor king Midas bathe in the clear stream“Of swift Pactolus, & to those waves tran[s]fer“The gold-transmuting power, which he repents.”MIDAS.Oh joy! Oh Bacchus, thanks for this to theeWill I each year offer three sucking lambs—Games will I institute—nor Pan himselfShall have more honour than thy deity.Haste to the stream,—I long to feel the coolAnd liquid touch of its divinest waves.(Exeunt all exceptZopyrionandAsphalion.)ASPHALION.Off with our golden sandals and our cloaks!Oh, I shall ever hate the sight of gold!Poor, wealthy Midas runs as if from deathTo rid him quick of this meta[l]lic curse.ZOPYRION.(aside) I wonder if his asses[’] ears are gold;What would I give to let the secret out?Gold! that is trash, we have too much of it,—But I would give ten new born lambs to tellThis most portentous truth—but I must choke.ASPHALION.Now we shall tend our flocks and reap our cornAs we were wont, and not be killed by gold.Golden fleeces threatened our poor sheep,The very showers as they fell from heavenCould not refresh the earth; the wind blew gold,And as we walked[1]the thick sharp-pointed atomsWounded our faces—the navies would have sunk—ZOPYRION.All strangers would have fled our gold-cursed shore,Till we had bound our wealthy king, that heMight leave the green and fertile earth unchanged;—Then in deep misery he would have shookHis golden chains & starved.Enter Lacon.LACON.Sluggards, how now IHave you not been to gaze upon the sight?To see the noble king cast off the giftWhich he erewhile so earnestly did crave[?]ASPHALION.I am so tired with the weight of goldI bore to-day I could not budge a footTo see the finest sight Jove could display.But tell us, Lacon, what he did and said.LACON.Although he’d fain have run[,] his golden dressAnd heavy sandals made the poor king limpAs leaning upon mine and the high priest’s arm,He hastened to Pactolus. When he sawThe stream—“Thanks to the Gods!” he cried aloudIn joy; then having cast aside his robesHe leaped into the waves, and with his palmThrowing the waters high—“This is not gold,”He cried, “I’m free, I have got rid of gold.”And then he drank, and seizing with delightA little leaf that floated down the stream,“Thou art not gold,” he said—ZOPYRION.But all this time—Did you behold?—Did he take off his crown?—LACON.No:—It was strange to see him as he plungedHold tight his crown with his left hand the while.ZOPYRION.(aside) Alas, my fate! I thought they had been seen.LACON.He ordered garments to the river sideOf coarsest texture;—those that erst he woreHe would not touch, for they were trimmed with gold.ZOPYRION.And yet he did not throw away his crown?LACON.He ever held it tight as if he thoughtSome charm attached to its remaining there.Perhaps he is right;—know you, Zopyrion,If that strange voice this morning spoke the truth?ZOPYRION.Nay guess;—think of what passed & you can judge.I dare not—I know nothing of his ears.LACON.I am resolved some night when he sleeps soundTo get a peep.—No more,’tis he that comes.He has now lost the boon that Bacchus gave,Having bestowed it on the limpid waves.Now over golden sands Pactolus runs,And as it flows creates a mine of wealth.Enter Midas, (with grapes in his hand).MIDAS.I see again the trees and smell the flowersWith colours lovelier than the rainbow’s self;I see the gifts of rich-haired Ceres piledAnd eat. (holding up the grapes)This is not yellow, dirty gold,But blooms with precious tints, purple and green.I hate this palace and its golden floor,Its cornices and rafters all of gold:—I’ll build a little bower of freshest green,Canopied o’er with leaves & floored with moss:—I’ll dress in skins;—I’ll drink from wooden cupsAnd eat on wooden platters—sleep on flock;None but poor men shall dare attend on me.All that is gold I’ll banish from my court,Gilding shall be high treason to my state,The very name of gold shall be crime capital[.]ZOPYRION.May we not keep our coin?MIDAS.No, Zopyrion,None but the meanest peasants shall have gold.It is a sordid, base and dirty thing:—Look at the grass, the sky, the trees, the flowers,These are Joves treasures & they are not gold:—Now they are mine, I am no longer cursed.—The hapless river hates its golden sands,As it rolls over them, having my gift;—Poor harmless shores! they now are dirty gold.How I detest it! Do not the Gods hate gold?Nature displays the treasures that she loves,She hides gold deep in the earth & piles aboveMountains & rocks to keep the monster down.ASPHALION.They say Apollo’s sunny car is gold.MIDAS.Aye, so it is for Gold belongs to him:—But Phœbus is my bitterest enemy,And what pertains to him he makes my bane.ZOPYRION.What [!] will your Majesty tell the world?—MIDAS.Peace, vile gossip! Asphalion, come you here.Look at those golden columns; those inlaid walls;The ground, the trees, the flowers & precious foodThat in my madness I did turn to gold:—Pull it all down, I hate its sight and touch;Heap up my cars & waggons with the loadAnd yoke my kine to drag it to the sea:Then crowned with flowers, ivy & Bacchic vine,And singing hymns to the immortal Gods,We will ascend ships freighted with the gold,And where no plummet’s line can sound the depthOf greedy Ocean, we will throw it in,All, all this frightful heap of yellow dirt.Down through the dark, blue waters it will sink,Frightening the green-haired Nereids from their sportAnd the strange Tritons—the waves will close aboveAnd I, thank Bacchus, ne’er shall see it more!And we will make all echoing heaven ringWith our loud hymns of thanks, & joyous pourLibations in the deep, and reach the land,Rich, happy, free & great, that we have lostMan’s curse, heart-bartering, soul-enchaining gold.FINIS.Footnotes[1]MS.as he walked.
Scene; a rural spot; on one side, a bare Hill, on the other an Ilex wood; a stream with reeds on its banks.
The Curtain rises and discovers Tmolus seated on a throne of turf, on his right hand Apollo with his lyre, attended by the Muses; on the left, Pan, fauns, &c.
Enter Midas and Zopyrion.
MIDAS.The Hours have oped the palace of the dawnAnd through the Eastern gates of Heaven, AuroraComes charioted on light, her wind-swift steeds,Winged with roseate clouds, strain up the steep.She loosely holds the reins, her golden hair,Its strings outspread by the sweet morning breeze[,]Blinds the pale stars. Our rural tasks begin;The young lambs bleat pent up within the fold,The herds low in their stalls, & the blithe cockHalloos most loudly to his distant mates.But who are these we see? these are not men,Divine of form & sple[n]didly arrayed,They sit in solemn conclave. Is that Pan,Our Country God, surrounded by his Fauns?And who is he whose crown of gold & harpAre attributes of high Apollo?
ZOPYRION.BestYour majesty retire; we may offend.
MIDAS.Aye, and at the base thought the coward bloodDeserts your trembling lips; but follow me.Oh Gods! for such your bearing is, & sureNo mortal ever yet possessed the goldThat glitters on your silken robes; may one,Who, though a king, can boast of no descentMore noble than Deucalion’s stone-formed men[,]May I demand the cause for which you deignTo print upon this worthless Phrygian earthThe vestige of your gold-inwoven sandals,Or why that old white-headed man sits thereUpon that grassy throne, & looks as heWere stationed umpire to some weighty cause[?]
TMOLUS.God Pan with his blithe pipe which the Fauns loveHas challenged Phœbus of the golden lyre[,]Saying his Syrinx can give sweeter notesThan the stringed instrument Apollo boasts.I judge between the parties. Welcome, King,I am old Tmolus, God of that bare Hill,You may remain and hear th’ Immortals sing.
MIDAS.[aside] My judgement is made up before I hear;Pan is my guardian God, old-horned Pan,The Phrygian’s God who watches o’er our flocks;No harmony can equal his blithe pipe.
(Shelley.)
Apollo (sings).
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,Curtained with star-enwoven tapestries,From the broad moonlight of the sky,Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyesWaken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn,Tells them that dreams & that the moon is gone.
Then I arise, and climbing Heaven’s blue dome,I walk over the mountains & the waves,Leaving my robe upon the Ocean foam,—My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the cavesAre filled with my bright presence & the airLeaves the green Earth to my embraces bare.
The sunbeams are my shafts with which I killDeceit, that loves the night & fears the day;All men who do, or even imagine illFly me, and from the glory of my rayGood minds and open actions take new mightUntil diminished by the reign of night.
I feed the clouds, the rainbows & the flowersWith their etherial colours; the moon’s globeAnd the pure stars in their eternal bowersAre cinctured with my power as with a robe;Whatever lamps on Earth or Heaven may shineAre portions of one power, which is mine.
I stand at noon upon the peak of heaven,Then with unwilling steps I wander downInto the clouds of the Atlantic even—For grief that I depart they weep & frown [;]What look is more delightful than the smileWith which I soothe them from the western isle [?]
I am the eye with which the UniverseBeholds itself & knows it is divine.All harmony of instrument or verse,All prophecy, all medecine is mine;All light of art or nature;—to my songVictory and praise, in its own right, belong.
(Shelley.)
Pan (sings).
From the forests and highlandsWe come, we come;From the river-girt islandsW[h]ere loud waves are dumb,Listening my sweet pipings;The wind in the reeds & the rushes,The bees on the bells of thyme,The birds on the myrtle bushes[,]The cicale above in the lime[,]And the lizards below in the grass,Were as silent as ever old Tmolus wasListening my sweet pipings.
Liquid Peneus was flowing,And all dark Tempe layIn Pelion’s shadow, outgrowingThe light of the dying daySpeeded by my sweet pipings.The Sileni, & Sylvans, & FaunsAnd the nymphs of the woods & the wavesTo the edge of the moist river-lawns,And the brink of the dewy caves[,]And all that did then attend & followWere silent with love, as you now, Apollo!With envy of my sweet pipings.
I sang of the dancing stars,I sang of the daedal Earth—-And of heaven—& the giant wars—And Love, & death, [&] birth,And then I changed my pipings,Singing how down the vale of Menalus,I pursued a maiden & clasped a reed,Gods and men, we are all deluded thus!It breaks in our bosom & then we bleed!All wept, as I think both ye now wouldIf envy or age had not frozen your blood,At the sorrow of my sweet pipings.
TMOLUS.Phœbus, the palm is thine. The Fauns may danceTo the blithe tune of ever merry Pan;But wisdom, beauty, & the power divineOf highest poesy lives within thy strain.Named by the Gods the King of melody,Receive from my weak hands a second crown.
PAN.Old Grey-beard, you say false! you think by thisTo win Apollo with his sultry beamsTo thaw your snowy head, & to renewThe worn out soil of your bare, ugly hill.I do appeal to Phrygian Midas here;Let him decide, he is no partial judge.
MIDAS.Immortal Pan, to my poor, mortal earsYour sprightly song in melody outweighsHis drowsy tune; he put me fast asleep,As my prime minister, Zopyrion, knows;But your gay notes awoke me, & to you,If I were Tmolus, would I give the prize.
APOLLO.And who art thou who dar’st among the GodsMingle thy mortal voice? Insensate fool!Does not the doom of Marsyas fill with dreadThy impious soul? or would’st thou also beAnother victim to my justest wrath?But fear no more;—thy punishment shall beBut as a symbol of thy blunted sense.Have asses’ ears! and thus to the whole worldWear thou the marks of what thou art,Let Pan himself blush at such a judge.[1]
(Exeunt all exceptMidas & Zopyrion.)
MIDAS.What said he? is it true, Zopyrion?Yet if it be; you must not look on me,But shut your eyes, nor dare behold my shame.Ah! here they are! two long, smooth asses[’] ears!They stick upright! Ah, I am sick with shame!
ZOPYRION.I cannot tell your Majesty my grief,Or how my soul’s oppressed with the sad changeThat has, alas! befallen your royal ears.
MIDAS.A truce to your fine speeches now, Zopyrion;To you it appertains to find some modeOf hiding my sad chance, if not you die.
ZOPYRION.Great King, alas! my thoughts are dull & slow[;]Pardon my folly, might they not be cut,Rounded off handsomely, like human ears [?]
MIDAS.(feeling his ears)They’re long & thick; I fear ’twould give me pain;And then if vengeful Phœbus should commandAnother pair to grow—that will not do.
ZOPYRION.You wear a little crown of carved gold,Which just appears to tell you are a king;If that were large and had a cowl of silk,Studded with gems, which none would dare gainsay,Then might you—
MIDAS.Now you have it! friend,I will reward you with some princely gift.But, hark! Zopyrion, not a word of this;If to a single soul you tell my shameYou die. I’ll to the palace the back wayAnd manufacture my new diadem,The which all other kings shall imitateAs if they also had my asses[’] ears.
(Exit.)
ZOPYRION.(watching Midas off)He cannot hear me now, and I may laugh!I should have burst had he staid longer here.Two long, smooth asses’ ears that stick upright;Oh, that Apollo had but made him bray!I’ll to the palace; there I’ll laugh my fillWith—hold! What were the last words that Midas said?I may not speak—not to my friends discloseThe strangest tale? ha! ha! and when I laughI must not tell the cause? none know the truth?None know King Midas has—but who comes here?It is Asphalion: he knows not this change;I must look grave & sad; for now a smileIf Midas knows it may prove capital.Yet when I think of those—oh! I shall die,In either way, by silence or by speech.
Enter Asphalion.
ASPHALION.Know you, Zopyrion?—
ZOPYRION.What[!] you know it too?Then I may laugh;—oh, what relief is this!How does he look, the courtiers gathering round?Does he hang down his head, & his ears too?Oh, I shall die! (laughs.)
ASPHALION.He is a queer old dog,Yet not so laughable. ’Tis true, he’s drunk,And sings and reels under the broad, green leaves,And hanging clusters of his crown of grapes.—
ZOPYRION.A crown of grapes! but can that hide his ears[?]
ASPHALION.His ears!—Oh, no! they stick upright between.When Midas saw him—
ZOPYRION.Whom then do you mean?Did you not say—
ASPHALION.I spoke of old Silenus;Who having missed his way in these wild woods,And lost his tipsey company—was foundSucking the juicy clusters of the vinesThat sprung where’er he trod:—and reeling onSome shepherds found him in yon ilex wood.They brought him to the king, who honouring himFor Bacchus’ sake, has gladly welcomed him,And will conduct him with solemnityTo the disconsolate Fauns from whom he’s strayed.But have you seen the new-fashioned diadem[2]That Midas wears?—
ZOPYRION.Ha! he has got it on!—Know you the secret cause why with such careHe hides his royal head? you have not seen—
ASPHALION.Seen what?
ZOPYRION.Ah! then, no matter:— (turns away agitated.)I dare not sneak or stay[;]If I remain I shall discover all.
ASPHALION.I see the king has trusted to your careSome great state secret which you fain would hide.I am your friend, trust my fidelity,If you’re in doubt I’ll be your counsellor.
ZOPYRION.(with great importance.)Secret, Asphalion! How came you to know?If my great master (which I do not say)Should think me a fit friend in whom to pourThe weighty secrets of his royal heart,Shall I betray his trust? It is not so;—I am a poor despised slave.—No more!Join we the festal band which will conductSilenus to his woods again?
ASPHALION.My friend,Wherefore mistrust a faithful heart? ConfideThe whole to me;—I will be still as death.
ZOPYRION.As death! you know not what you say; farewell[!]A little will I commune with my soul,And then I’ll join you at the palace-gate.
ASPHALION.Will you then tell me?—
ZOPYRION.Cease to vex, my friend,Your soul and mine with false suspicion, (aside) Oh!I am choked! I’d give full ten years of my lifeTo tell, to laugh—& yet I dare not speak.
ASPHALION.Zopyrion, remember that you hurtThe trusting bosom of a faithful friendBy your unjust concealment.
(Exit.)
ZOPYRION.Oh, he’s gone!To him I dare not speak, nor yet to Lacon;No human ears may hear what must be told.I cannot keep it in, assuredly;I shall some night discuss it in my sleep.It will not keep! Oh! greenest reeds that swayAnd nod your feathered heads beneath the sun,Be you depositaries of my soul,Be you my friends in this extremity[:]I shall not risk my head when I tell youThe fatal truth, the heart oppressing fact,
(stooping down & whispering)
That royal Midas has got asses’ ears.Oh! how my soul’s relieved! I feel so light!Although you cannot thank me for my trust,Dear, faithful reeds, I love you tenderly;Mute friends, ye helped me in my greatest need.Farewel! I know ye will be still as death;Nor tell the passing winds or running waves
(stoops and whispers)
That royal Midas has got asses’ ears.
(sees Bacchus, starts up in fear, & stands behind watching.)
Enter Bacchus.
BACCHUS.I have wandered many hours through the pathsAnd wildernesses of that ilex wood,Tracing where’er I went my tipsey friendBy the red juice of grapes that stained the ground,And by the curling branches of the vinesThat, springing where he trod, have curled aroundThe knotty trunks of those eternal trees.I too have lost my way; nor can I tellTo what barbarian land the wanderer’s come.I hope no power contemptuous of mineHas hurt my foster-father;—Who comes here?’Tis he surrounded by a jocund throngOf priests and bacchant women, bearing spearsBlunted with pine cones & with ivy wreathed,And here and there they cry, “Bacchus! Evoe!”As if the Nysian impulse just began.And who is he who with a stately crownOutshines the rest? He seems to be a king;But were he even an ass on his hind legsHe shall have rich reward if he have savedAnd welcomed with due honour my old faun.
(Enter Midas, Silenus & others, who fall back during the scene; Midas is always anxious about his crown, & Zopyrion gets behind him & tries to smother his laughter.)
SILENUS.(very drunk) Again I find you, Bacchus, runaway!Welcome, my glorious boy! Another timeStray not; or leave your poor old foster-fatherIn the wild mazes of a wood, in whichI might have wandered many hundred years,Had not some merry fellows helped me out,And had not this king kindly welcomed me,I might have fared more ill than you erewhileIn Pentheus’ prisons, that death fated rogue.
BACCHUS.(to Midas.) To you I owe great thanks & will rewardYour hospitality. Tell me your nameAnd what this country is.
MIDAS.My name is Midas—
THE REEDS.(nodding their heads).Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
MIDAS.(turning round & seizing Zopyrion).Villain, you lie! he dies who shall repeatThose traitrous words. Seize on Zopyrion!
THE REEDS.Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
MIDAS.Search through the crowd; it is a woman’s voiceThat dares belie her king, & makes her lifeA forfeit to his fury.
ASPHALION.There is no woman here.
BACCHUS.Calm yourself, Midas; none believe the tale,Some impious man or gamesome faun dares feignIn vile contempt of your most royal ears.Off with your crown, & shew the world the lie!
MIDAS.(holding his crown tight)Never! What[!] shall a vile calumnious slaveDictate the actions of a crowned king?Zopyrion, this lie springs from you—you perish!
ZOPYRION.I, say that Midas has got asses’ ears?May great Apollo strike me with his shaftIf to a single soul I ever toldSo false, so foul a calumny!
BACCHUS.Midas!
THE REEDS.Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
BACCHUS.Silence! or by my Godhead I strike deadWho shall again insult the noble king.Midas, you are my friend, for you have savedAnd hospitably welcomed my old faun;Choose your reward, for here I swear your wish,Whatever it may be, shall be fulfilled.
ZOPYRION.(aside) Sure he will wish his asses’ ears in Styx.
MIDAS.What[!] may I choose from out the deep, rich mineOf human fancy, & the wildest thoughtsThat passed 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 thingThat I have longed for with unceasing care.
BACCHUS.Pause, noble king, ere you express this wish[.]Let not an error or rash folly spoilMy benefaction; pause and then declare,For what you ask shall be, as I have sworn.
MIDAS.Let all I touch be gold, most glorious gold!Let me be rich! and where I stretch my hands,(That like Orion I could touch the stars!)Be radiant gold! God Bacchus, you have sworn,I claim your word,—my ears are quite forgot!
THE REEDS.Midas, the king, has the ears of an ass.
MIDAS.You lie, & yet I care not—
ZOPYRION.(aside to Midas) Yet might IBut have advised your Majesty, I wouldHave made one God undo the other’s work—
MIDAS.(aside to Zopyr).Advise yourself, my friend, or you may growShorter by a head ere night.—I am blessed,Happier than ever earthly man could boast.Do you fulfil your words?
BACCHUS.Yes, thoughtless man!And much I fear if you have not the earsYou have the judgement of an ass. Farewel!I found you rich & happy; & I leave you,Though you know it not, miserably poor.Your boon is granted,—touch! make gold! Some hereHelp carry old Silenus off, who sleepsThe divine sleep of heavy wine. Farewel!
MIDAS.Bacchus, divine, how shall I pay my thanks[?]
(Exeunt.)
END OF FIRST ACT.
Footnotes
[1]A syllable here, a whole foot in the previous line, appear to be missing.
[2]Another halting line. Cf. again, p. [47], 1. 3; p. [55], 1. 11; p. [59], 1.1; p. [61], 1. 1; p. [64], 1. 14.]
Scene; a splendid apartment in the Palace of Midas.
Enter Midas(with a golden rose in his hand).
MIDAS.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 beforeWas fit for a poor peasant’s festal dressMay now adorn a Queen. I lift a stone,A heavy, useless mass, a slave would spurn,What is more valueless? ’Tis solid gold!A king might war on me to win the same.And as I pass my hand thus through the air,A little shower of sightless dust falls downA 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 touchEach 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 groundMy naked foot treads on is yellow gold,Invaluable gold! my dress is gold!Now I am great! Innumerable armiesWait 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, ass-eared king!I love thee more than any words can tell,That thus thy touch, thou man akin to Gods,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 bearAn empire on their backs in sheets of gold.Oh, what a slave I was! my flocks & kine,My vineyards & my corn were all my wealthAnd men esteemed me rich; but now Great JoveTranscends me but by lightning, and who knowsIf my gold win not the Cyclopean Powers,And Vulcan, who must hate his father’s rule,To forge me bolts?—and then—but hush! they come.
Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion, & Lacon.
LACON.Pardon us, mighty king—
MIDAS.What would ye, slaves?Oh! I could buy you all with one slight touchOf my gold-making hand!
ASPHALION.Royal Midas,We humbly would petition for relief.
MIDAS.Relief I Bring me your copper coin, your brass,Or what ye will—ye’ll speedily be rich.
ZOPYRION.’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 downWith 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—
MIDAS.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 wearThat dress—those golden sandals—monarch like.
ASPHALION.If you would have us walk a mile a dayWe cannot thus—already we are tiredWith the huge weight of soles of solid gold.
MIDAS.Pitiful wretches! Earth-born, groveling dolts!Begone! nor dare reply to my just wrath!Never behold me more! or if you stayLet not a sigh, a shrug, a stoop betrayWhat 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 sayThe hour is come for my noon-day repast.
LACON.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.
MIDAS.(lifting up the ewer)This is to be a king! to touch pure gold!Would that by touching thee, Zopyrion,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 touchFalls down a stream of yellow liquid gold,And hardens as it falls. I cannot wash—Pray Bacchus, I may drink! and the soft towelWith which I’d wipe my hands transmutes itselfInto a sheet of heavy gold.—No more!I’ll sit and eat:—I have not tasted foodFor many hours, I have been so wraptIn golden dreams of all that I possess,I had not time to eat; now hunger callsAnd makes me feel, though not remote in powerFrom 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 meatWhich by its scent quickened my appetiteHas lost its scent, its taste,—’tis useless gold.
ZOPYRION.(aside) He’d better now have followed my advice.He starves by gold yet keeps his asses’ ears.
MIDAS.Asphalion, put that apple to my mouth;If my hands touch it not perhaps I eat.Alas! I cannot bite! as it approachedI felt its fragrance, thought it would be mine,But by the touch of my life-killing lips’Tis changed from a sweet fruit to tasteless gold,Bacchus will not refresh me by his gifts,The liquid wine congeals and flies my taste.Go, miserable slaves! Oh, wretched king!Away with food! Its sight now makes me sick.Bring in my couch! I will sleep off my care,And when I wake I’ll coin some remedy.I dare not bathe this sultry day, for fearI be enclosed in gold. Begone!I will to rest:—oh, miserable king!
(Exeunt all but Midas. He lies down, turns restlessly for some time & then rises.)
Oh! fool! to wish to change all things to gold!Blind Ideot that I was! This bed is gold;And this hard, weighty pillow, late so soft,That of itself invited me to rest,Is a hard lump, that if I sleep and turnI may beat out my brains against its sides.Oh! what a wretched thing I am! how blind!I cannot eat, for all my food is gold;Drink flies my parched lips, and my hard couchIs worse than rock to my poor bruised sides.I cannot walk; the weight of my gold solesPulls me to earth:—my back is broke beneathThese gorgeous garments— (throws off his cloak)Lie there, golden cloak!There on thy kindred earth, lie there and rot!I dare not touch my forehead with my palmFor fear my very flesh should turn to gold.Oh! let me curse thee, vilest, yellow dirt!Here, on my knees, thy martyr lifts his voice,A poor, starved wretch who can touch nought but thee[,]Wilt thou refresh me in the heat of noon?Canst thou be kindled for me when I’m cold?May all men, & the immortal Gods,Hate & spurn thee as wretched I do now.
(Kicks the couch, & tries to throw down the pillow but cannot lift it.)
I’d dash, thee to the earth, but that thy weightPreserves thee, abhorred, Tartarian Gold!Bacchus, O pity, pardon, and restore me!Who waits?
Enter Lacon.
Go bid the priests that they prepareMost solemn song and richest sacrifise;—Which I may not dare touch, lest it should turnTo most unholy gold.
LACON.Pardon me, oh King,But perhaps the God may give that you may eat,And yet your touch be magic.
MIDAS.No more, thou slave!Gold is my fear, my bane, my death! I hateIts yellow glare, its aspect hard and cold.I would be rid of all.—Go bid them haste.
(ExitLacon.)
Oh, Bacchus I be propitious to their prayer!Make me a hind, clothe me in ragged skins—And let my food be bread, unsavoury roots,But take from me the frightful curse of gold.Am I not poor? Alas! how I am changed!Poorer than meanest slaves, my piles of wealthCannot buy for me one poor, wretched dish:—In summer heat I cannot bathe, nor wearA linen dress; the heavy, dull, hard metalClings to me till I pray for poverty.
Enter Zopyrion, Asphalion & Lacon.
ZOPYRION.The sacrifice is made, & the great God,Pitying your ills, oh King, accepted it,Whilst his great oracle gave forth these words.“Let poor king Midas bathe in the clear stream“Of swift Pactolus, & to those waves tran[s]fer“The gold-transmuting power, which he repents.”
MIDAS.Oh joy! Oh Bacchus, thanks for this to theeWill I each year offer three sucking lambs—Games will I institute—nor Pan himselfShall have more honour than thy deity.Haste to the stream,—I long to feel the coolAnd liquid touch of its divinest waves.
(Exeunt all exceptZopyrionandAsphalion.)
ASPHALION.Off with our golden sandals and our cloaks!Oh, I shall ever hate the sight of gold!Poor, wealthy Midas runs as if from deathTo rid him quick of this meta[l]lic curse.
ZOPYRION.(aside) I wonder if his asses[’] ears are gold;What would I give to let the secret out?Gold! that is trash, we have too much of it,—But I would give ten new born lambs to tellThis most portentous truth—but I must choke.
ASPHALION.Now we shall tend our flocks and reap our cornAs we were wont, and not be killed by gold.Golden fleeces threatened our poor sheep,The very showers as they fell from heavenCould not refresh the earth; the wind blew gold,And as we walked[1]the thick sharp-pointed atomsWounded our faces—the navies would have sunk—
ZOPYRION.All strangers would have fled our gold-cursed shore,Till we had bound our wealthy king, that heMight leave the green and fertile earth unchanged;—Then in deep misery he would have shookHis golden chains & starved.
Enter Lacon.
LACON.Sluggards, how now IHave you not been to gaze upon the sight?To see the noble king cast off the giftWhich he erewhile so earnestly did crave[?]
ASPHALION.I am so tired with the weight of goldI bore to-day I could not budge a footTo see the finest sight Jove could display.But tell us, Lacon, what he did and said.
LACON.Although he’d fain have run[,] his golden dressAnd heavy sandals made the poor king limpAs leaning upon mine and the high priest’s arm,He hastened to Pactolus. When he sawThe stream—“Thanks to the Gods!” he cried aloudIn joy; then having cast aside his robesHe leaped into the waves, and with his palmThrowing the waters high—“This is not gold,”He cried, “I’m free, I have got rid of gold.”And then he drank, and seizing with delightA little leaf that floated down the stream,“Thou art not gold,” he said—
ZOPYRION.But all this time—Did you behold?—Did he take off his crown?—
LACON.No:—It was strange to see him as he plungedHold tight his crown with his left hand the while.
ZOPYRION.(aside) Alas, my fate! I thought they had been seen.
LACON.He ordered garments to the river sideOf coarsest texture;—those that erst he woreHe would not touch, for they were trimmed with gold.
ZOPYRION.And yet he did not throw away his crown?
LACON.He ever held it tight as if he thoughtSome charm attached to its remaining there.Perhaps he is right;—know you, Zopyrion,If that strange voice this morning spoke the truth?
ZOPYRION.Nay guess;—think of what passed & you can judge.I dare not—I know nothing of his ears.
LACON.I am resolved some night when he sleeps soundTo get a peep.—No more,’tis he that comes.He has now lost the boon that Bacchus gave,Having bestowed it on the limpid waves.Now over golden sands Pactolus runs,And as it flows creates a mine of wealth.
Enter Midas, (with grapes in his hand).
MIDAS.I see again the trees and smell the flowersWith colours lovelier than the rainbow’s self;I see the gifts of rich-haired Ceres piledAnd eat. (holding up the grapes)This is not yellow, dirty gold,But blooms with precious tints, purple and green.I hate this palace and its golden floor,Its cornices and rafters all of gold:—I’ll build a little bower of freshest green,Canopied o’er with leaves & floored with moss:—I’ll dress in skins;—I’ll drink from wooden cupsAnd eat on wooden platters—sleep on flock;None but poor men shall dare attend on me.All that is gold I’ll banish from my court,Gilding shall be high treason to my state,The very name of gold shall be crime capital[.]
ZOPYRION.May we not keep our coin?
MIDAS.No, Zopyrion,None but the meanest peasants shall have gold.It is a sordid, base and dirty thing:—Look at the grass, the sky, the trees, the flowers,These are Joves treasures & they are not gold:—Now they are mine, I am no longer cursed.—The hapless river hates its golden sands,As it rolls over them, having my gift;—Poor harmless shores! they now are dirty gold.How I detest it! Do not the Gods hate gold?Nature displays the treasures that she loves,She hides gold deep in the earth & piles aboveMountains & rocks to keep the monster down.
ASPHALION.They say Apollo’s sunny car is gold.
MIDAS.Aye, so it is for Gold belongs to him:—But Phœbus is my bitterest enemy,And what pertains to him he makes my bane.
ZOPYRION.What [!] will your Majesty tell the world?—
MIDAS.Peace, vile gossip! Asphalion, come you here.Look at those golden columns; those inlaid walls;The ground, the trees, the flowers & precious foodThat in my madness I did turn to gold:—Pull it all down, I hate its sight and touch;Heap up my cars & waggons with the loadAnd yoke my kine to drag it to the sea:Then crowned with flowers, ivy & Bacchic vine,And singing hymns to the immortal Gods,We will ascend ships freighted with the gold,And where no plummet’s line can sound the depthOf greedy Ocean, we will throw it in,All, all this frightful heap of yellow dirt.Down through the dark, blue waters it will sink,Frightening the green-haired Nereids from their sportAnd the strange Tritons—the waves will close aboveAnd I, thank Bacchus, ne’er shall see it more!And we will make all echoing heaven ringWith our loud hymns of thanks, & joyous pourLibations in the deep, and reach the land,Rich, happy, free & great, that we have lostMan’s curse, heart-bartering, soul-enchaining gold.
FINIS.
Footnotes
[1]MS.as he walked.