MAL. The ground's too hard a feather-bed; not I.
SIR RALPH. Why, how, and you had met with such a stump?
MAL. Why, if he had been your height, I meant to jump.
SIR RALPH. Are ye so nimble?
MAL. Nimble as a doe.
SIR RALPH. Bak'd in a pie.
MAL. Of ye.
SIR RALPH. Good meat, ye know.
MAL. Ye hunt sometimes?
SIR RALPH. I do.