Dread the battle, and stout the combat, mighty and manifold looms the war. Hard to decide in the fight they're waging, One like a stormy tempest raging, One alert in the rally and skirmish, clever to parry and foin and spar. Nay but don't be content to sit Always in one position only: many the fields for your keen-edged wit. On then, wrangle in every way, Argue, battle, be flayed and flay, Old and new from your stores display, Yea, and strive with venturesome daring something subtle and neat to say. Fear ye this, that to-day's spectators lack the grace of artistic lore, Lack the knowledge they need for taking All the points ye will soon be making? Fear it not: the alarm is groundless: that, be sure, is the case no more. All have fought the campaign ere this: Each a book of the words is holding; never a single point they'll miss. Bright their natures, and now, I ween, Newly whetted, and sharp, and keen. Dread not any defect of wit, Battle away without misgiving, sure that the audience, at least, are fit.

Chor Monologue from The Frogs

Rehearse Chor's monologue