Cad. Look closely at it; make thy knowlege more certain.
Aga. Ah, woe is me! O sight of awful sorrow!
Cad. Dost think it like a lion’s head?
Aga. Ah no! ’tis Pentheus’ head which I his unhappy mother hold.
Cad. Bemoaned[1] by me, or ever thou didst recognize him.
Aga. Who slew him? How came he into my hands?
Cad. O, piteous truth! how ill-timed thy presence here!
Aga. Speak; my bosom throbs at this suspense.
Cad. Twas thou didst slay him, thou and thy sisters.
Aga. Where died he? in the house or where?
Cad. On the very spot where hounds of yore rent Actaeon in pieces.
Aga. Why went he, wretched youth! to Cithæron?
Cad. He would go and mock the god and thy Bacchic rites.
Aga. But how was it we had journeyed thither?
Cad. Ye were distraught; the whole city had the Bacchic frenzy.
Aga. ’Twas Dionysus proved our ruin; now I see it all.
Cad. Yes, for the slight he suffered; ye would not believe in his godhead.
Aga. Father, where is my dear child’s corpse?
Cad. With toil I searched it out and am bringing it myself.
Aga. Is it all fitted limb to limb in seemly wise?
Cad.[2]* * * * *
Aga. But what had Pentheus to do with folly of mine?
Cad. He was like you in refusing homage to the god, who, therefore, hath involved you all in one common ruin, you and him alike, to destroy this house and me, forasmuch as I, that had no sons, behold this youth, the fruit of thy womb,
