[_In answer, with music 8ve lower._ _Full Chorus._ Croak! croak! croak! _Leader of the Chorus._ When flagons were foaming, And roysterers roaming, And bards flung about them their gibe and their joke; The holiest song Still was found to belong To the Sons of the Marsh with their-- _Full Chorus._ Croak! croak! _Leader._ Shall we pause in our strain, Now the months bring again The pipe and the minstrel to gladden the folk? Rather strike on the ear, With a note sharp and clear, A chant corresponding of-- _Chorus._ Croak! croak! _Bacchus_ (_mimicking_). Croak! croak! By the Gods, I shall choke If you pester and bore my ears any more With your croak! croak! croak! _Leader._ Rude companion and vain, Thus to carp at my strain, But keep in the vein, And attack him again With a croak! croak! croak! _Chorus_ (_crescendo_). Croak! croak! croak! _Bacchus_ (_mimicking_). Croak! croak! Vapour and smoke! Never think it, old huff, That I care for such stuff As your croak! croak! croak! _Chorus_ (_fortissimo_). Croak! croak! croak! _Bacchus._ Now fires light on thee And waters soak, And March winds catch thee Without any cloak. For within and without, From the tail to the snout, Thou’rt nothing but-- Croak! croak! croak! _Leader._ And what else, captious newcomer, say, should I be? But you know not to whom you are talking, I see. [_With dignity_. I’m the friend of the Muses, and Pan with his pipe Loves me better by far than a cherry that’s ripe: Who gives them their tone and their moisture but I? And therefore for ever I’ll utter my cry Of-- _Chorus._ Croak! croak! croak! _Bacchus._ I’m blistered, I’m flustered, I’m sick, I’m ill. _Chorus._ Croak! croak! croak! _Bacchus._ My dear little bull-frog, do prithee keep still. _Chorus._ Croak! croak! croak! _Bacchus._ ’Tis a sorry vocation, that reiteration; I speak on my honour, most musical nation Of croak! croak! croak!