Agave. Dionysus, we beseech thee! We have sinned! Dionysus. Too late! When there was time, ye knew me not! Agave. We have confessed. Yet is thine hand too hot. Dionysus. Ye mocked me, being God; this is your wage. Agave. Should God be like a proud man in his rage? Dionysus. 'Tis as my sire, Zeus, willed it long ago. Agave (turning from him almost with disdain). Old Man, the word is spoken; we must go.
