What have you done my wasted wine?
My dress is torn, my hands are shaking;
He spied on you atop the pine –
His limbs you rent, his head for staking.
I thought he was a mountain lion,
I thought I saved us from destruction;
Destroyed you have your only scion –
By following my wild seduction.
What happens now? What next for me?
My mutilated son I’ve plundered;
I’ll turn you mad, in exile see –
Your royal house, your line, I’ve sundered.
The tale is told throughout the ages;
I’m feared and loved in equal measure,
It’s said that when the Bacchae rages –
Women kill and kill in pleasure.
Image: The Death of Pentheus, Attic Red Figure Kylix attributed to Dourix, c.480 BCE / Kimbell Art Museum, Texas