CHARON. Now stretch your arms full length before you. DIONYSUS. So? CHAR. Come, don’t keep fooling; plant your feet, and now Pull with a will. DIO. Why, how am I to pull? I’m not an oarsman, seaman, Salaminian. I can’t! CHAR. You can. Just dip your oar in once, You’ll hear the loveliest timing songs. DIO. What from? CHAR. Frog-swans, most wonderful. DIO. Then give the word. CHAR. Heave ahoy! heave ahoy! FROGS. Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax! Brekekekex, ko-ax, ko-ax! We children of the fountain and the lake, Let us wake Our full choir-shout, as the flutes are ringing out, Our symphony of clear-voiced song. The song we used to love, in the Marshland up above, In praise of Dionysus to produce, Of Nysaean Dionysus, son of Zeus, When the revel-tipsy throng, all crapulous and gay, To our precinct reeled along on the holy Pitcher day....