Let’s present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer’s horns upon his head, for a branch of victory. Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?
Forester
Yes, sir.
Jaques
Sing it: ’tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.
Song.
Forester
What shall he have that kill’d the deer? His leather skin and horns to wear. Then sing him home; The rest shall bear this burden. Take thou no scorn to wear the horn; It was a crest ere thou wast born: Thy father’s father wore it, And thy father bore it: The horn, the horn, the lusty horn Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. Exeunt.