He was quickly brought however to repent his avarice, when the very meat
which he attempted to eat, turned to gold in his mouth, and the wine to the
same metal, as it passed down his throat. He was now as anxious to be
delivered from this fatal gift, as he was before to receive it, and
implored the god to revoke a present so fatal to the recipient.
"The ready slaves prepare a sumptuous board,
Spread with rich dainties for their happy lord,
Whose powerful hands the bread no sooner hold,
But its whole substance is transformed to gold:
Up to his mouth he lifts the savoury meat,
Which turns to gold as he attempts to eat:
His patron's noble juice, of purple hue,
Touched by his lips a gilded cordial grew:
Unfit for drink, and wondrous to behold,
It trickles from his jaws a fluid gold.
The rich, poor fool confounded with surprize,
Staring on all his various plenty lies:
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Sick of his wish, he now detests the power
For which he asked so earnestly before:
Amidst his gold with pinching famine curst,
And justly tortured with an equal thirst.
At last his shining arms to heaven he rears
And, in distress, for refuge flies to prayers.
'O father Bacchus, I have sinned,' he cried,
'And foolishly thy gracious gift applied,
Thy pity now, repenting, I implore;
Oh! may I feel the golden plague no more!'"