O sing no more.

FR. Ah, no! ah, no! Loud and louder our chant must flow.
Sing if ever ye sang of yore,
When in sunny and glorious days
Through the rushes and marsh-flags springing
On we swept, in the joy of singing
Myriad-divine roundelays.
Or when fleeing the storm, we went
Down to the depths, and our choral song
Wildly raised to a loud and long
Bubble-bursting accompaniment.

FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

DIO. This timing song I take from you.

FR. That's a dreadful thing to do.

DIO. Much more dreadful, if I row
Till I burst myself, I trow.

FR. and DIO. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax.

DIO. Go, hang yourselves; for what care I?

FR. All the same we'll shout and cry,
Stretching all our throats with song,
Shouting, crying, all day long.