Melanippides. (Book xiv. § 7, p. 984.)
But Athené flung away
From her pure hand those noxious instruments
It late had touch'd, and thus did say—
"Hence, ye banes of beauty, hence;
What? shall I my charms disgrace
By making such an odious face?"—Bland.
Pratinas. (Book xiv. § 8, p. 985.)
What means this tumult? Why this rage?
What thunder shakes th' Athenian stage?
'Tis frantic Bromius bids me sing,
He tunes the pipe, he smites the string;
The Dryads with their chief accord,
Submit, and hail the drama's lord.
Be still! and let distraction cease,
Nor thus profane the Muse's peace;
By sacred fiat I preside,
The minstrel's master and his guide;
He, whilst the chorus strains proceed,
Shall follow with responsive reed;
To measured notes whilst they advance,
He in wild maze shall lead the dance.
So generals in the front appear,
Whilst music echoes from the rear.
Now silence each discordant sound!
For see, with ivy chaplet crown'd,
Bacchus appears! He speaks in me—
Hear, and obey the god's decree!—Cumberland.
The same.
What revel-rout is this? What noise is here?
What barb'rous discord strikes my ear?
What jarring sounds are these, that rage
Unholy on the Bacchic stage?
'Tis mine to sing in Bromius' praise—
'Tis mine to laud the god in dithyrambic lays—
