If your Table Cloath be never so fine,
There lies your Beer, Ale, or Wine:
It may be for a small Abuse,
A young Man may his Service lose;
But had it been a Leather Bottel,
And the Stopple in, then all had been well.
And I wish &c
Then what do you say these black Pots three?
True, they shall have no praise of me,
For when a Man and his Wife falls at Strife,