Classic Poem

Beer! boys, beer! no more absurd restriction,
Courage, Bass, Meux and Barclay must give way;
Half-pints and quarts have vanished like a fiction.
Why, then, submit to the brewers' despot sway?
Brown stout of England! much as we may love thee,
(Which by the way, I rather think we do,)
Pale draught of India! shall they charge us for thee
Twice what you're worth, for the profit of a few?
Beer! boys, beer! abundant, deep and vasty!
Beer! boys, beer! the stunning, strong and grand!
Beer! boys, beer! the cheap and not the nasty!
Beer! boys, beer! at a price a man can stand.

Beer! boys, beer! the present scale of prices
Leads to a style of tipple not the best;
Vile Spanish root, and quassia, which not nice is,
Bad for the bile, and oppressive for the chest.
But let's unite with hearty agitation,
Push for our rights, and battle might and main;
And ours shall be a large and brimming tankard
Of real wholesome stuff, brewed out of roasted grain.
Beer! boys, beer! no more of gentian's nausea;
Beer! boys, beer! with liquorice away;
Beer! boys, beer! no logwood chips or quassia;
Beer! boys, beer! which is all I have to say!