The tide, like a friend, has brought ships in our way,
And on their high ropes we will play
Like maggots in filberts we'll snug in our shell,
We'll frisk in our shell,
We'll frisk in our shell,
And farewell.
1st King. But the ladies have all inclination to dance,
And the green frogs croak out a coranto of France.
Bayes. Is not that pretty, now? The fiddlers are all in green.
Smith. Ay, but they play no coranto.