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 God!
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?