“Be your liquor small, or as thick as mudd,
The cheating bottle cryes, good, good, good,
Whereat the master begins to storme,
Cause he said more than he could performe.
And I wish that his heires may never want Sack,
That first devis’d the bonny black Jack.
No Tankerd, Flaggon, Bottle nor Jugg
Are half so good, or so well can hold Tugg,
For when they are broke, or full of cracks,
Then they must fly to the brave black Jacks.