Dio. The god attends us, ungracious heretofore, but now our sworn friend; and now thine eyes behold the things they should.
Pen. Pray, what do I resemble? Is not mine the carriage of Ino, or Agave my own mother?
Dio. In seeing thee, I seem to see them in person. But this tress is straying from its place, no longer as I bound it ’neath the snood.
Pen. I disarranged it from its place as I tossed it to and fro within my chamber, in Bacchic ecstasy.
Dio. Well, I will rearrange it, since to tend thee is my care; hold up thy head.
Pen. Come, put it straight; for on thee do I depend.
Dio. Thy girdle is loose, and the folds of thy dress do not hang evenly below thy ankles.
Pen. I agree to that as regards the right side, but on the other my dress hangs straight with my foot.
Dio. Surely thou wilt rank me first among thy friends, when contrary to thy expectation thou findest the Bacchantes virtuous.
Pen. Shall I hold the thyrsus in the right or left hand to look most like a Bacchanal?
Dio. Hold it in thy right hand, and step out with thy right foot; thy change of mind compels thy praise.
Pen. Shall I be able to carry on my shoulders Cithaeron’s glens, the Bacchanals[1] and all?
Dio. Yes, if so thou wilt; for though thy mind was erst diseased, ’tis now just as it should be.
Pen. Shall we take levers, or with my hands can I uproot it, thrusting arm or shoulder ’neath its peaks?
Dio. No, no! destroy not the seats of the Nymphs and the haunts of Pan, the place of his piping.
- ↑ Some editors read αὐταῖσιν ἐλαταῖς from a Schol. on Phœn. l. 3, where this reading is given.
