Shall I my high charter and birthright revoke?
Nay, my efforts I’ll double
And drive him like stubble
Before me with—
Chorus.Croak! croak! croak!
Bacchus.I’m ribs of steel, I’m heart of oak,
Let us see if a note
Can be found in this throat,
To answer their (croaks loudly) croak! croak! croak!
Leader.Poor vanity’s son!