To brew, or not to brew: that is the question:
Whether 'tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The bland and boring of Macrobrews,
Or to take arms against the enemies of taste,
And by opposing end them?
And hence the Rogue known as Shakespeare’s Stout accompanied by the trusted Black Hawk of Mendocino shall embark;
From whence no passenger euer retur'nd,
The Imperial Isle of Berkshire, at whose sight
The happy smile, and the accursed Mephistopheles of Avery.
To drink: perchance to dream: ay, there's the rub;
For in that drink of death what dreams may come