Ho!  Bacchus!  Ho!  I yield thee thanks for this! 
    Through all the woodland we the wretch have borne: 
    So that each root is slaked with blood of his: 
    Yea, limb from limb his body have we torn
    Through the wild forest with a fearful bliss: 
    His gore hath bathed the earth by ash and thorn!—­
    Go then! thy blame on lawful wedlock fling! 
    Ho!  Bacchus! take the victim that we bring!

  CHORUS OF MAENADS.

    Bacchus! we all must follow thee! 
    Bacchus!  Bacchus!  Ohe!  Ohe!

  With ivy coronals, bunch and berry,
    Crown we our heads to worship thee! 
  Thou hast bidden us to make merry
    Day and night with jollity! 
  Drink then!  Bacchus is here!  Drink free,
  And hand ye the drinking-cup to me! 
    Bacchus! we all must follow thee! 
    Bacchus!  Bacchus!  Ohe!  Ohe!

  See, I have emptied my horn already: 
    Stretch hither your beaker to me, I pray: 
  Are the hills and the lawns where we roam unsteady? 
    Or is it my brain that reels away? 
  Let every one run to and fro through the hay,
  As ye see me run!  Ho! after me! 
    Bacchus! we all must follow thee! 
    Bacchus!  Bacchus!  Ohe!  Ohe!

  Methinks I am dropping in swoon or slumber: 
    Am I drunken or sober, yes or no? 
  What are these weights my feet encumber? 
    You too are tipsy, well I know! 
  Let every one do as ye see me do,
  Let every one drink and quaff like me! 
    Bacchus! we all must follow thee! 
    Bacchus!  Bacchus!  Ohe!  Ohe!

  Cry Bacchus!  Cry Bacchus!  Be blithe and merry,
    Tossing wine down your throats away! 
  Let sleep then come and our gladness bury: 
    Drink you, and you, and you, while ye may! 
  Dancing is over for me to-day. 
  Let every one cry aloud Evohe! 
    Bacchus! we all must follow thee! 
    Bacchus!  Bacchus!  Ohe!  Ohe!

Though an English translation can do little toward rendering the facile graces of Poliziano’s style, that ‘roseate fluency’ for which it has been praised by his Italian admirers, the main qualities of the ‘Orfeo’ as a composition may be traced in this rough copy.  Of dramatic power, of that mastery over the deeper springs of human nature which distinguished the first effort of the English muse in Marlowe’s plays, there is but little.  A certain adaptation of the language to the characters, as in the rudeness of Thyrsis when contrasted with the rustic elegance of Aristaeus, a touch of simple feeling in Eurydice’s lyrical outcry of farewell, a discrimination between the tender sympathy of Proserpine and Pluto’s stern relenting, a spirited presentation of the Bacchanalian furore in the Maenads, an attempt to model the Satyr Mnesillus as apart from human nature and yet sympathetic to its anguish, these points constitute the chief dramatic features of the