(The warning-off of the profane.)

All evil thoughts and profane be still: far hence, far hence from our choirs depart, Who knows not well what the Mystics tell, or is not holy and pure of heart; Who ne'er has the noble revelry learned, or danced the dance of the Muses high; Or shared in the Bacchic rites which old bull-eating Cratinus's words supply; Who vulgar coarse buffoonery loves, though all untimely the jests they make; Or lives not easy and kind with all, or kindling faction forbears to slake, But fans the fire, from a base desire some pitiful gain for himself to reap; Or takes, in office, his gifts and bribes, while the city is tossed on the stormy deep; Who fort or fleet to the foe betrays; or, a vile Thorycion, ships away Forbidden stores from Aegina's shores, to Epidaurus across the Bay Transmitting oarpads and sails and tar, that curst collector of five per cents; The knave who tries to procure supplies for the use of the enemy's armaments; The Cyclian singer who dares befoul the Lady Hecate's wayside shrine; The public speaker who once lampooned in our Bacchic feast, would, with heart malign, Keep nibbling away the Comedians' pay;--to these I utter my warning cry, I charge them once, I charge them twice, I charge them thrice, that they draw not nigh To the sacred dance of the Mystic choir. But YE, my comrades, awake the song, The night-long revels of joy and mirth which ever of right to our feast belong.

(The start of the procession.)

Advance, true hearts, advance! On to the gladsome bowers, On to the sward, with flowers Embosomed bright! March on with jest, and jeer, and dance, Full well ye've supped to-night.

(The processional hymn to Persephone.)

March, chanting loud your lays, Your hearts and voices raising, The Saviour goddess praising Who vows she'll still Our city save to endless days, Whate'er Thorycion's will.

Break off the measure, and change the time; and now with chanting and hymns adorn Demeter, goddess mighty and high, the harvest-queen, the giver of corn.

(The processional hymn to Demeter.)

O Lady, over our rites presiding, Preserve and succour thy choral throng, And grant us all, in thy help confiding, To dance and revel the whole day long; AND MUCH in earnest, and much in jest, Worthy thy feast, may we speak therein. And when we have bantered and laughed our best, The victor's wreath be it ours to win.

Call we now the youthful god, call him hither without delay, Him who travels amongst his chorus, dancing along on the Sacred Way.

(The processional hymn to Iacchus.)

O, come with the joy of thy festival song, O, come to the goddess, O, mix with our throng Untired, though the journey be never so long. O Lord of the frolic and dance, Iacchus, beside me advance! For fun, and for cheapness, our dress thou hast rent, Through thee we may dance to the top of our bent, Reviling, and jeering, and none will resent. O Lord of the frolic and dance, Iacchus, beside me advance! A sweet pretty girl I observed in the show, Her robe had been torn in the scuffle, and lo, There peeped through the tatters a bosom of snow. O Lord of the frolic and dance, Iacchus, beside me advance!

DIO. Wouldn't I like to follow on, and try A little sport and dancing?

XAN. Wouldn't I?

(The banter at the bridge of Cephisus.)

CHOR. Shall we all a merry joke At Archedemus poke, Who has not cut his guildsmen yet, though seven years old; Yet up among the dead He is demagogue and head, And contrives the topmost place of the rascaldom to hold? And Cleisthenes, they say, Is among the tombs all day, Bewailing for his lover with a lamentable whine. And Callias, I'm told, Has become a sailor bold, And casts a lion's hide o'er his members feminine.

DIO. Can any of you tell Where Pluto here may dwell, For we, sirs, are two strangers who were never here before?

CHOR. O, then no further stray, Nor again enquire the way, For know that ye have journeyed to his very entrance-door

DIO. Take up the wraps, my lad.

XAN. Now is not this too bad? Like "Zeus's Corinth," he "the wraps" keeps saying o'er and o'er.

CHOR. Now wheel your sacred dances through the glade with flowers bedight, All ye who are partakers of the holy festal rite; And I will with the women and the holy maidens go Where they keep the nightly vigil, an auspicious light to show.

(The departure for the Thriasian Plain)

Now haste we to the roses, And the meadows full of posies, Now haste we to the meadows In our own old way, In choral dances blending, In dances never ending, Which only for the holy The Destinies array. O happy mystic chorus, The blessed sunshine o'er us On us alone is smiling, In its soft sweet light: On us who strove for ever With holy, pure endeavour, Alike by friend and stranger To guide our steps aright.

DIO. What's the right way to knock? I wonder how The natives here are wont to knock at doors.

XAN. No dawdling: taste the door. You've got, remember, The lion-hide and pride of Heracles.

DIO. Boy! boy!

AEACUS. Who's there?

DIO. I, Heracles the strong!

AEAC. O, you most shameless desperate ruffian, you! O, villain, villain, arrant vilest villain! Who seized our Cerberus by the throat, and fled, And ran, and rushed, and bolted, haling off The dog, my charge! But now I've got thee fast. So close the Styx's inky-hearted rock, The blood-bedabbled peak of Acheron Shall hem thee in: the hell-hounds of Cocytus Prowl round thee; whilst the hundred-headed Asp Shall rive thy heart-strings: the Tartesian Lamprey, Prey on thy lungs: and those Tithrasian Gorgons Mangle and tear thy kidneys, mauling them, Entrails and all, into one bloody mash. I'll speed a running foot to fetch them hither.

XAN. Hallo! what now?

DIO. I've done it: call the god.

XAN. Get up, you laughing-stock; get up directly, Before you're seen.

DIO. What, I get up? I'm fainting. Please dab a sponge of water on my heart.

XAN. Here!

DIO. Dab it, you.

XAN. Where? O, ye golden gods, Lies your heart THERE?

DIO. It got so terrified It fluttered down into my stomach's pit.

XAN. Cowardliest of gods and men!

DIO. The cowardliest? I? What I, who asked you for a sponge, a thing A coward never would have done!

XAN. What then?

DIO. A coward would have lain there wallowing; But I stood up, and wiped myself withal.

XAN. Poseidon! quite heroic.

DIO. 'Deed I think so. But weren't you frightened at those dreadful threats And shoutings?

XAN, Frightened? Not a bit. I cared not.

DIO. Come then, if you're so very brave a man, Will you be I, and take the hero's club And lion's skin, since you're so monstrous plucky? And I'll be now the slave, and bear the luggage.

XAN. Hand them across. I cannot choose but take them. And now observe the Xanthio-heracles If I'm a coward and a sneak like you.

DIO. Nay, you're the rogue from Melite's own self. And I'll pick up and carry on the traps.

MAID. O welcome, Heracles! come in, sweetheart. My Lady, when they told her, set to work, Baked mighty loaves, boiled two or three tureens Of lentil soup, roasted a prime ox whole, Made rolls and honey-cakes. So come along.

XAN. (Declining.) You are too kind.

MAID. I will not let you go. I will not LET you! Why, she's stewing slices Of juicy bird's-flesh, and she's making comfits, And tempering down her richest wine. Come, dear, Come along in.

XAN. (Still declining.) Pray thank her.

MAID. O you're jesting, I shall not let you off: there's such a lovely Flute-girl all ready, and we've two or three Dancing-girls also.

XAN. Eh! what! Dancing-girls?

MAID. Young budding virgins, freshly tired and trimmed. Come, dear, come in. The cook was dishing up The cutlets, and they are bringing in the tables.

XAN. Then go you in, and tell those dancing-girls Of whom you spake, I'm coming in Myself. Pick up the traps, my lad, and follow me.

DIO. Hi! stop! you're not in earnest, just because I dressed you up, in fun, as Heracles? Come, don't keep fooling, Xanthias, but lift And carry in the traps yourself.

XAN. Why! what! You are never going to strip me of these togs You gave me!

DIO. Going to? No, I'm doing it now. Off with that lion-skin.

XAN. Bear witness all The gods shall judge between us.

DIO. Gods indeed! Why how could you (the vain and foolish thought!) A slave, a mortal, act Alcmena's son?

XAN. All right then, take them; maybe, if God will, You'll soon require my services again.

CHOR. This is the part of a dexterous clever Man with his wits about him ever, One who has travelled the world to see; Always to shift, and to keep through all Close to the sunny side of the wall; Not like a pictured block to be, Standing always in one position; Nay but to veer, with expedition, And ever to catch the favouring breeze, This is the part of a shrewd tactician, This is to be a--THERAMENES! DIO. Truly an exquisite joke 'twould be, Him with a dancing girl to see, Lolling at ease on Milesian rugs; Me, like a slave, beside him standing, Aught that he wants to his lordship handing; Then as the damsel fair he hugs, Seeing me all on fire to embrace her, He would perchance (for there's no man baser), Turning him round like a lazy lout, Straight on my mouth deliver a facer, Knocking my ivory choirmen out.