To drink, or not to drink—that is the question:
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The thirst and dryness of outrageous hunger,
Or to take up a can against a sea of cravings,
And by sipping, quench them? To drink—to refresh—
No more; and by a sip to say we end
The headache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to—’tis a carbonation
Devoutly to be wished! To drink—to fizz—
To fizz! Perchance to burp—ay, there’s the rub:
For in that sparkling gulp what burps may come,
When we have chugged this aluminum vessel,
Must give us pause—there’s the carbonation
That makes a wreck of noble digestion!

Who would bear the pangs of thirst and time,
Th’ dry tongue’s parching, the hunger’s ache,
The burning thought of water’s dull embrace,
When he himself might his salvation take
With a mere pull-tab? Who would diet endure,
To sip and sigh under a weary life,
But that the dread of Pepsiman’s call—
The undelivered can, from whose vault
No beverage returns—puzzles the will,
And makes us rather sip the drinks we have
Than thirst for ones we know not of?

Thus, thirst does make cowards of us all,
And thus the blue and silver hue of fate
Is glossed o’er with the pale cast of thought,
And enterprises of great thirst and drink,
With this regard, their moments turn awry,
And lose the fizz of action.—Soft you now!
The noble Pepsiman! Nymph, in thy hands
Behold my thirst—quench it, I pray thee!