Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.
BACCHUS. I'm blister'd, I'm fluster'd, I'm sick, I'm ill—
Chorus. Croak, croak.
BACCHUS. My dear little bull-frog, do prithee be still.
'Tis a sorry vocation—that reiteration,
(I speak on, my honour, most musical nation,)
Of croak, croak.
LEADER (maestoso.) When the sun rides in glory and makes a bright day,
Mid lilies and plants of the water I stray;
Or when the sky darkens with tempest and rain,