He fought the strong, do you his courage show, And gain a conquest o’er a feeble foe. If Thebes must fall, O might the Fates afford A nobler doom from famine, fire, or sword; Then might the Thebans perish with renown: But now a beardless victor sacks the town, Whom nor the prancing steed, nor ponderous shield, Nor the hack’d helmet, nor the dusty field, But the soft joys of luxury and ease, The purple vests, and flowery garlands, please. Stand then aside, I’ll make the counterfeit Renounce his godhead, and confess the cheat. Acrisius from the Grecian walls repell’d This boasted power: why then should Pentheus yield? Go quickly, drag the impostor boy to me, I’ll try the force of his divinity.” Thus did the audacious wretch those rites profane; His friends dissuade the andacious wretch in vain, In vain his grandsire urged him to give o’er His impious threats, the wretch but raves the more.