(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 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.

Midas Monologue from Proserpine and Midas

Rehearse Midas's monologue