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 tell This most portentous truth—but I must choke. ASPHALION. Now we shall tend our flocks and reap our corn As we were wont, and not be killed by gold. Golden fleeces threatened our poor sheep, The very showers as they fell from heaven Could not refresh the earth; the wind blew gold, And as we walked[1] the thick sharp-pointed atoms Wounded 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 he Might leave the green and fertile earth unchanged;— Then in deep misery he would have shook His golden chains & starved. Enter Lacon. LACON. Sluggards, how now I Have you not been to gaze upon the sight? To see the noble king cast off the gift Which he erewhile so earnestly did crave[?] ASPHALION. I am so tired with the weight of gold I bore to-day I could not budge a foot To 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 dress And heavy sandals made the poor king limp As leaning upon mine and the high priest’s arm, He hastened to Pactolus. When he saw The stream—“Thanks to the Gods!” he cried aloud In joy; then having cast aside his robes He leaped into the waves, and with his palm Throwing 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 delight A 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 plunged Hold 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 side Of coarsest texture;—those that erst he wore He 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 thought Some 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 sound To 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).