Women, the man is caught in our net. He will go to the Bacchae, where he will pay the penalty with his death. Dionysus, now it is your job; for you are not far off. Let us punish him. First drive him out of his wits, send upon him a dizzying madness, since if he is of sound mind he will not consent to wear women’s clothing, but driven out of his senses he will put it on. I want him to be a source of laughter to the Thebans, led through the city in women’s guise after making such terrible threats in the past. But now I will go to fit on Pentheus the dress he will wear to the house of Hades, slaughtered by his mother’s hands. He will recognize the son of Zeus, Dionysus, who is in fact a god, the most terrible and yet most mild to men.

ChorusShall I move my white foot in the night-long dance, aroused to a frenzy,