The Dancers.
[Singing.]
Potions of fire drain from goblets o'erflowing!
Potions of fire!
Lips deeply sipping,
Locks unguent-dripping,
Goat-haunches tripping,
Wine-God, we hail thee in rapturous quire!
The Women.
[Singing.]
Come, Bacchanalians, while noontide is glowing—
Come, do not flee us—
Plunge we in love-sports night blushes at knowing!
There rides Lyaeus,
Pard-borne, delivering!
Come, do not flee us;
Know, we are passionate; feel, we are quivering!
Leaping all, playing all,
Staggering and swaying all—
Come, do not flee us!
Julian.
Make room! Stand aside, citizens! Reverently make way; not for us, but for him to whom we do honour!
A Voice in the Crowd.
The Emperor in the company of mummers and harlots!
Julian.
The shame is yours, that I must content myself with such as these. Do you not blush to find more piety and zeal among these than among yourselves?
