Dionysus.
First we need
A rich and trailing robe of fine-linen
To gird thee.
Pentheus.
Nay; am I a woman, then,
And no man more?
Dionysus.
Wouldst have them slay thee dead?
No man may see their mysteries.
Pentheus.
Well said!—
I marked thy subtle temper long ere now.
Dionysus.