(To Chorus) But strike up a tune,
He shall not forget soon
(Chorus.) Of our croak, croak, croak,
(Croak, with a discordant crash of music.)
BACCHUS. I'm cinder, I'm coke,
I have had my death-stroke;
O, that ever I woke
To be gall'd by the yoke
Of this croak, croak, croak, croak.
LEADER. Friend, friend, I may not be still: