ing from him each ordinance that lies outside the pale of right. Let justice show herself, advancing sword in hand to plunge it through and through the throat of Echion’s son, that godless, lawless, and abandoned child of earth! Appear, O Bacchus, to our eyes as a bull or serpent with a hundred heads, or take the shape of a lion breathing flame! Oh! come, and with a mocking smile[1] cast the deadly noose about the hunter[2] of thy Bacchanals, e’en as he swoops[3] upon the Mænads gathered yonder.
Mes. O house, so prosperous once through Hellas long ago, home of the old Sidonian prince, who sowed the serpent’s crop of earth-born men, how do I mourn thee! slave though I be, yet still the sorrows of his master touch a good slave’s heart.[4]
Cho. How now? Hast thou fresh tidings of the Bacchantes?
Mes. Pentheus, Echion’s son is dead.
Cho. Bromius, my king! now[5] art thou appearing in thy might divine.
Mes. Ha! what is it thou sayest? art thou glad, woman, at my master’s misfortunes?
Cho. A stranger I, and in foreign tongue I express my joy, for now no more do I cower in terror of the chain.
Mes. Dost think Thebes so poor in men * * ?
* * * * * *[6]
Cho. ’Tis Dionysus, Dionysus, not Thebes that lords it over me.
Mes. All can I pardon thee save this; to exult o’er hopeless suffering is sorry conduct, dames.
