BACCHUS. I'm blister'd, I'm fluster'd, I'm sick, I'm ill--

_Chorus._ Croak, croak.

BACCHUS. My dear little bull-frog, do prithee be still.
'Tis a sorry vocation--that reiteration,
(I speak on, my honour, most musical nation,)
Of croak, croak.

LEADER (_maestoso._) When the sun rides in glory and makes a bright day,
Mid lilies and plants of the water I stray;
Or when the sky darkens with tempest and rain,
I sink like a pearl in my watery domain:
Yet, sinking or swimming. I lift up a song,
Or I drive a gay dance with my eloquent throng,
Then hey bubble, bubble--
For a knave's petty trouble,
Shall I my high charter and birth-right revoke?
Nay, my efforts I'll double,
And drive him like stubbie
Before me, with--

_Chorus_. Croak, croak, croak.

BACCHUS. I'm ribs of steel, I'm heart of oak,
Let us see if a note
May be found in this throat
To answer their croak, croak, croak.
(_Croaks loudly_.)