Lips deeply sipping,
Locks unguent-dripping,
Goat-haunches tripping,
Wine-God, we hail thee in rapturous quire!
The Women.
[Singing.]
Come, Bacchanalians, while noontide is glowing—
Come, do not flee us—
Plunge we in love-sports night blushes at knowing!
There rides Lyaeus,