Alas, poor Bonewah! I knew him, all; a fellow of infinite jest, of most misguided wit; he hath stumbled alongside myself in the gutter a thousand times; and now, how abhorred am I in his speech! my gorge rises at it.
To rebut or not to rebut that is the question:
Whether 't is nobler in the mind, to suffer The Slings and arrows of outrageous allegations; Or to take up verbal arms against a sea of beer, And, by oppossing, end it? To rebut, to argue...No more; and, by an argument, to say we have a discourse.
The hangover, and the thousand natural aches That flesh is heir too, 't is a consummation Devoutly to be avoid'd. To rebut, to argue; to discourse! perchance to pass out; ay, there's the rub;
For in that argument what imbibing will be done? when we have passed out on this mortal coil, that makes cacophony of such disputes:
For who would bear the mugs and kegs of time, The disputer is wrong, the proud King is no Jester, The pangs of betrayal pinch mightily; the beer's delay, the insolence of mine underlings, and the spurns, the patient waiting for the frothy lager.
With a bare bodkin? who would fardels bear, to grunt and drink. But I wonder from my aim. Is the Duke any less touched by the Frivolity of The Day?
Through his lips has passed as much tasty adult malt beverages as I.
Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your slurred songs? Not one now, to mock at mine own revelries?
Many thanks and apologies to Bill Shakespeare. For those that didn't quite follow the cut of my jib then look at Hamlet Act III Scene 1
Graphical Embellisments to be added at the King's convenience