Sir stranger! And thou seek'st no more, I ween!
Long curls, withal! That shows thou ne'er hast been
A wrestler!--down both cheeks so softly tossed
And winsome! And a white skin! It hath cost
Thee pains, to please thy damsels with this white
And red of cheeks that never face the light!
[_DIONYSUS is silent._]
Speak, sirrah; tell me first thy name and race.

DIONYSUS
No glory is therein, nor yet disgrace.
Thou hast heard of Tmolus, the bright hill of flowers?

PENTHEUS
Surely, the ridge that winds by Sardis towers.

DIONYSUS
Thence am I; Lydia was my fatherland.

PENTHEUS
And whence these revelations, that thy band
Spreadeth in Hellas?

DIONYSUS
Their intent and use
Dionysus oped to me, the Child of Zeus.

PENTHEUS (_brutally_)
Is there a Zeus there, that can still beget
Young Gods?