In which your savage hearts exultant revel,
Of gods abominate—maids whose features foul
Speak your foul tempers plainly. Find a home
In some grim lion’s den sanguinolent, not
In holy temples which your breath pollutes.
Depart, ye sheep unshepherded, whom none
Of all the gods may own!
Chorus.
Liege lord, Apollo,
Ours now to speak, and thine to hear: thyself