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,
Holds me dearer by far than a cherry that's ripe:
For the reed and the cane which his music supply,
Who gives them their tone and their moisture but I?
And therefore for ever I'll utter my cry
Of—