“You shall have it immediately, sir,” said she; and going to a cask, she filled a jug with ale, and after handing it to me resumed her seat and knitting.
“It is not very bad ale,” said I, after I had tasted it.
“It ought to be very good,” said the old woman, “for I brewed it myself.”
“The goodness of ale,” said I, “does not so much depend on who brews it as on what it is brewed of. Now there is something in this ale which ought not to be. What is it made of?”
“Malt and hop.”
“It tastes very bitter,” said I. “Is there no chwerwlys [506] in it?”
“I do not know what chwerwlys is,” said the old woman.
“It is what the Saxons call wormwood,” said I.
“O, wermod. No, there is no wermod in my beer, at least not much.”
“O, then there is some; I thought there was. Why do you put such stuff into your ale?”