Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of
his
own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the
noblest
deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man
therefore
blessed? No; as a wall'd town is more worthier than a
village, so
is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the
bare
brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no
skill, by so much is horn more precious than to want. Here
comes
Sir Oliver.
Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met. Will you dispatch us
here
under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
MARTEXT. Is there none here to give the woman?
TOUCHSTONE. I will not take her on gift of any man.
MARTEXT. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not
lawful.
JAQUES. [Discovering himself] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.
TOUCHSTONE. Good even, good Master What-ye-call't; how do you,
sir?
You are very well met.
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