Shakespeare said it this way in Act 3, Scene 5, of Henry V. (As the day wanes, the Constable is complaining to the Dauphin of the valor of the bedraggled English troops.)
Dieu de batailles! where have they this mettle?
Is not their climate foggy, raw and dull,
On whom, as in despite, the sun looks pale,
Killing their fruit with frowns? Can sodden water,
A drench for sur-rein'd jades, their barley-broth,
Decoct their cold blood to such valiant heat?
And shall our quick blood, spirited with wine,
Seem frosty?
The next day is the battle of Saint Crispin's Day. Plot spoiler: Beer (barley broth) wins.
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