You are, quoth Panurge, very far mistaken in your interpretation; for the matter is quite contrary to your sense thereof.  My dream presageth that I shall by marriage be stored with plenty of all manner of goods—­the hornifying of me showing that I will possess a cornucopia, that Amalthaean horn which is called the horn of abundance, whereof the fruition did still portend the wealth of the enjoyer.  You possibly will say that they are rather like to be satyr’s horns; for you of these did make some mention.  Amen, Amen, Fiat, fiatur, ad differentiam papae.  Thus shall I have my touch-her-home still ready.  My staff of love, sempiternally in a good case, will, satyr-like, be never toiled out—­a thing which all men wish for, and send up their prayers to that purpose, but such a thing as nevertheless is granted but to a few.  Hence doth it follow by a consequence as clear as the sunbeams that I will never be in the danger of being made a cuckold, for the defect hereof is Causa sine qua non; yea, the sole cause, as many think, of making husbands cuckolds.  What makes poor scoundrel rogues to beg, I pray you?  Is it not because they have not enough at home wherewith to fill their bellies and their pokes?  What is it makes the wolves to leave the woods?  Is it not the want of flesh meat?  What maketh women whores?  You understand me well enough.  And herein may I very well submit my opinion to the judgment of learned lawyers, presidents, counsellors, advocates, procurers, attorneys, and other glossers and commentators on the venerable rubric, De frigidis et maleficiatis.  You are, in truth, sir, as it seems to me (excuse my boldness if I have transgressed), in a most palpable and absurd error to attribute my horns to cuckoldry.  Diana wears them on her head after the manner of a crescent.  Is she a cucquean for that?  How the devil can she be cuckolded who never yet was married?  Speak somewhat more correctly, I beseech you, lest she, being offended, furnish you with a pair of horns shapen by the pattern of those which she made for Actaeon.  The goodly Bacchus also carries horns, —­Pan, Jupiter Ammon, with a great many others.  Are they all cuckolds?  If Jove be a cuckold, Juno is a whore.  This follows by the figure metalepsis:  as to call a child, in the presence of his father and mother, a bastard, or whore’s son, is tacitly and underboard no less than if he had said openly the father is a cuckold and his wife a punk.  Let our discourse come nearer to the purpose.  The horns that my wife did make me are horns of abundance, planted and grafted in my head for the increase and shooting up of all good things.  This will I affirm for truth, upon my word, and pawn my faith and credit both upon it.  As for the rest, I will be no less joyful, frolic, glad, cheerful, merry, jolly, and gamesome, than a well-bended tabor in the hands of a good drummer at a nuptial feast, still making a noise, still rolling, still buzzing and cracking.  Believe me, sir, in that consisteth none of my least good fortunes.  And my wife will be jocund, feat, compt, neat, quaint, dainty, trim, tricked up, brisk, smirk, and smug, even as a pretty little Cornish chough.  Who will not believe this, let hell or the gallows be the burden of his Christmas carol.