Part 4 (1/2)

Most oft by night; 'tis a majestic thing, The darkness.

PENTHEUS.

Ha! with women wors.h.i.+pping?

'Tis craft and rottenness!

DIONYSUS.

By day no less, Whoso will seek may find unholiness.

PENTHEUS.

Enough! Thy doom is fixed, for false pretence Corrupting Thebes.

DIONYSUS.

Not mine; but thine, for dense Blindness of heart, and for blaspheming G.o.d!

PENTHEUS.

A ready knave it is, and brazen-browed, This mystery-priest!

DIONYSUS.

Come, say what it shall be, My doom; what dire thing wilt thou do to me?

PENTHEUS.

First, shear that delicate curl that dangles there.

[_He beckons to the soldiers, who approach_ DIONYSUS.

DIONYSUS.

I have vowed it to my G.o.d; 'tis holy hair.

[_The soldiers cut off the tress._

PENTHEUS.

Next, yield me up thy staff!

DIONYSUS.

Raise thine own hand To take it. This is Dionysus' wand.

[PENTHEUS _takes the staff_.

PENTHEUS.

Last, I will hold thee prisoned here.