Star Trek: Deep Space Nine1993

[Bashir and O'Brien come out of a holosuite, dressed in WW II flying jackets and caps]

Quark:
So, what can I get you two fly-boys?

Doctor Bashir:
Scotch. Neat. And a pint of your finest bitter for my mate.

Chief O'Brien:
[with English accent] And make it quick. The cabbage crates'll be coming back over the briny any minute now.

Quark:
All right, all right! I'd hate to let the Jerries strafe that green and pleasant land of yours, while the two of you were taking time out to get a drink.

Doctor Bashir:
No choice, man. Ritual, you know.

[they raise their glasses]

Chief O'Brien:
[English accent] To Clive, the best bloke ever to prang his kite into the Channel.

Doctor Bashir:
Ah, gotta keep a stiff upper lip.

Chief O'Brien:
Hear, hear.

Doctor Bashir:
Down the hatch!

[and both chug their drinks in one gulp]