worth.

OLIVER.
Is't possible?

SAM.
Nay, I'll tell you moreover, he calls his wife whore as
familiarly as one would call Mal and Dol, and his children
bastards as naturally as can be.--But what have we here? I
thought twas somewhat puld down my breeches: I quite forgot
my two potingsticks. These came from London; now any thing
is good here that comes from London.

OLIVER.
Aye, far fetcht you know.

SAM.
But speak in your conscience, yfaith, have not we as good
Potingsticks ith Country as need to be put ith fire. The mind
of a thing's all, and as thou saidst e'en now, far fetcht is
the best things for Ladies.

OLIVER.
Aye, and for waiting gentle women too.

SAM.
But, Ralph, what, is our beer sower this thunder?

OLIVER.
No, no, it holds countenance yet.