Undeterred by the punishment of Pentheus, Alcithoe and her sisters dare to ridicule the orgies of Bacchus, and to employ themselves in the labours of the loom during the festival of that god.
Yet still Alcithoe perverse remains, And Bacchus still and all his rites disdains. Too rash and madly bold, she bids him prove Himself a god, nor owns the son of Jove: Her sisters too unanimous agree, Faithful associates in impiety.
Be this a solemn feast, the priest had said; Be, with each mistress, unemploy’d each maid. With skins of beasts your tender limbs enclose, And with an ivy crown adorn your brows; The leafy thyrsus high in triumph bear, And give your locks to wanton in the air.