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:
Sick of his wish, he now detests the power
For which he asked so earnestly before: