PENTHEUS
A ready knave it is, and brazen-browed,
This mystery-priest!

DIONYSUS
Come, say what it shall be,
My doom; what dire thing wilt thou do to me?

PENTHEUS
First, shear that delicate curl that dangles there.
[_He beckons to the soldiers, who approach_ DIONYSUS.]

DIONYSUS
I have vowed it to my God; 'tis holy hair.
[_The soldiers cut off the tress_.]

PENTHEUS
Next, yield me up thy staff!

DIONYSUS
Raise thine own hand
To take it. This is Dionysus' wand.
[PENTHEUS _takes the staff_.]

PENTHEUS
Last, I will hold thee prisoned here.

DIONYSUS
My Lord
God will unloose me, when I speak the word.