Pentheus is punished for his impiety by being torn in pieces by his mother and aunts, while under the influence of Bacchus.
But Pentheus, grown more furious than before, Resolved to send his messengers no more, But went himself to the distracted throng, Where high Cithaeron echo’d with their song. And as the fiery warhorse paws the ground, And snorts and trembles at the trumpet’s sound, Transported thus he heard the frantic rout, And raved and madden’d at the distant shout.
A spacious circuit on the hill there stood, Level and wide, and skirted round with wood; Here the rash Pentheus, with unhallow’d eyes, The howling dames and mystic orgies spies. His mother sternly view’d him where he stood, And kindled into madness as she view’d: Her leafy javelin at her son she cast, And cries, “The boar that lays our country waste! The boar, my sisters! Aim the fatal dart, And strike the brindled monster to the heart.”