Chremylus:—As matters now stand (who will dare contradict it?) the life of us men is compos’d
Of a system where folly, absurdity, madness, ay, raving downright is disclosed;
Since, how many a knave we see revel in wealth—the rich heap of his ill-gotten store—
And how many a good man, by fortune unblest, with thee begging bread at the door! (Turns to Poverty.)
I say, then, there is but one thing to be done, and if we succeed, what a prize
Will we bring to mankind! That thing it will be—to give Plutus the use of his eyes.
Poverty:—A pest on your prate, and palavering stuff! back! begone with ye, blockheads, to school!
You pair of old dotards, you drivelling comrades in trifling and playing the fool!
If the plan ye propose be accomplish’d at last nothing worse could mankind e’er befall,
Than that Plutus should have the full use of his eyes, and bestow himself equal on all!