Chorus. Croak, croak, croak.
BACCHUS. I'm ribs of steel, I'm heart of oak,
Let us see if a note
May be found in this throat
To answer their croak, croak, croak.
(Croaks loudly.)
LEADER. Poor vanity's son—
And dost think me outdone,
With a clamour no bigger
Than a maiden's first snigger?