“Then to the spicy nut-brown ale.” — John Milton, L’Allegro
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- Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale
- Or merry swains, who quaff the nut-brown ale, and sing
- But leave me to my beer! Gold is dross, love is loss,
- One sip of this Will bathe the drooping spirits in delight,
- Wine, one sip of this will bathe the drooping spirits in delight beyond the bliss
- When night darkens the streets, then wander forth the sons of
- Bacchus, that first from out the purple grape,
- Well they worked their will on John Barleycorn,
- “If it wasn’t for the olives in his martinis he’d starve to death.”
- Say for what were hopyards meant. Or why was Burton built on Trent