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[Singing.]

Potions of fire drain from goblets o'erflowing! Potions of fire! Lips deeply sipping, Locks unguent-dripping, Goat-haunches tripping, Wine-God, we hail thee in rapturous quire!

[Singing.]

Come, Bacchanalians, while noontide is glowing— Come, do not flee us— Plunge we in love-sports night blushes at knowing! There rides Lyaeus, Pard-borne, delivering! Come, do not flee us; Know, we are passionate; feel, we are quivering! Leaping all, playing all, Staggering and swaying all— Come, do not flee us!

Make room! Stand aside, citizens! Reverently make way; not for us, but for him to whom we do honour!

The Emperor in the company of mummers and harlots!

The shame is yours, that I must content myself with such as these. Do you not blush to find more piety and zeal among these than among yourselves?