Midas monologue (Act 4) — Proserpine and Midas

Peace, vile gossip! Asphalion, come you here. Look at those golden columns; those inlaid walls; The ground, the trees, the flowers & precious food That 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 load And 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 depth Of 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 sport And the strange Tritons—the waves will close above And I, thank Bacchus, ne’er shall see it more! And we will make all echoing heaven ring With our loud hymns of thanks, & joyous pour Libations in the deep, and reach the land, Rich, happy, free & great, that we have lost Man’s curse, heart-bartering, soul-enchaining gold.