The sun is over the yardarm somewhere, hand me a beer!
Hermit hoar, in solemn cell, wearing out lifes evening gray. Smite thy bosom, sage, and tell, what is bliss, and which the way? Thus I spoke, and speaking sighed, scarce repressed a starting tear. When the smiling sage replyd, come, my lad, and drink some beer. Samuel Johnson
That one made it into my thesis pertaining to molecular genetics almost 30 years ago.