This makes the dwarf complete in ev’ry part:
She wounds most sure who throws the golden dart.
Short of one foot, distorted of one eye,
Struck by its lustre, no defects I spy.
DAMON.
Thus does Philander waste his wits to prove
A happy marriage destitute of love.
Gold, cursed gold, the bane of ev’ry bliss,
Thy summum bonum, all thy happiness.
Say, to what purpose do thy words avail?