Ha! ha! when Bacchus loses himself in a wood Silenus will drink the sea. Scaramouch. The sound again! It is as you say: one would think it journeyed over sea. It grows and gathers, and now it travels from its own quarter: it is very near. Silenus. He comes in all his state: the chariot-wheels Like silent billows roll; from side to side The tigers' heads between their velvet paws, Like lilies eyed with flame, sway noiselessly, Or, poised on high, breathe odours to the moon. Taller than Ariadne by a head He stands with her upon the chariot-floor: They have been lovers since he found her here: His arm is round her neck; one loyal hand Droops on her shoulder, and the other holds A careless rein: her face lifts up to his The deep, sweet melancholy of desire; And he looks down, high mystery in his eyes-- The passionate love of these sweet centuries; Unstaunched, uncloyed. Scaramouch. But, where?--where? Silenus. In the wood. I know how Bacchus travels. Here they come. Scaramouch. But the tigers: we shall be eaten alive. Silenus. My good Scrub, the tigers of Bacchus know of daintier food than such marrowless bones and savourless flesh as you and I. The best thing you can do is to stretch yourself there beside Glaucus, and pretend that you are drunk. Bacchus may be angry at those who have carried me off, and his immediate punishment might be severe: he will do nothing to one who is in the power of wine, and by the time you can be reasonably sober his ire will have gone like the beads from a goblet. Scaramouch. I would not do so for a man, but gods may be encountered by such sleights. Honestly, I have soused my brains a little. You do not lie comfortably, Glaucus. Come--why, he is sound asleep! I'll make a pillow of him. [Lies down with his head on Glaucus. Enter Satyrs and Bacchantes, followed by Bacchus and Ariadne in a chariot drawn by tigers. They descend.