] for they are much less wise than Greeks.

BAC. In these things they are wiser, but their laws are different.

PEN. Do you practice these rites at night, or by day?

BAG. Most of them at night;[29] darkness conveys awe.

PEN. This is treacherous toward women, and unsound.

BAC. Even by day some may devise base things.

PEN. You must pay the penalty of your evil devices.

BAC. And you of your ignorance, being impious to the God.

PEN. How bold is Bacchus, and not unpracticed in speech.

BAC. Say what I must suffer, what ill wilt thou do me?

PEN. First I will cut off your delicate hair.

BAC. The hair is sacred, I cherish it for the God.[30]

PEN. Next yield up this thyrsus out of your hands.

BAC. Take it from me yourself, I bear it as the ensign of Bacchus.

PEN. And we will guard your body within in prison.

BAC. The God himself will release me when I wish.[31]

PEN. Ay, when you call him, standing among the Bacchae.

BAC. Even now, being near, he sees what I suffer.

PEN. And where is he? for at least he is not apparent to my eyes.

BAC. Near me, but you being impious, see him not.

PEN. Seize him, he insults me and Thebes!

BAC. I warn you not to bind me: I in my senses command you not in your
senses.

PEN. And I bid them to bind you, as being mightier than you.

BAC. You know not why you live, nor what you do, nor who you are.

PEN. Pentheus, son of Agave, and of my father Echion.

BAC. You are suited to be miserable according to your name.[32]

PEN. Begone! confine him near the stable of horses that he may behold dim
darkness! There dance; and as for these women whom you bring with you, the
accomplices in your wickedness, we will either sell them away, or stopping
their hand from this noise and beating of skins, I will keep them as slaves
at the loom.

BAC. I will go--for what is not right it is not right to suffer; but as a
punishment for these insults Bacchus shall pursue you, who you say exists
not; for, injuring us, you put him in bonds.

CHOR. O daughter of Achelous, venerable Dirce, happy virgin, for thou didst
receive the infant of Jove in thy fountains when Jove who begat him saved
him in his thigh from the immortal fire; uttering this shout: Go, O
Dithyrambus, enter this my male womb, I will make you illustrious, O
Bacchus, in Thebes, so that they shall call you by this name. But you, O
happy Dirce, reject me having a garland-bearing company about you. Why dost
thou reject