Brutus. Tell us what has chanced to-day, that STOREY looks so sad.
Casca. Why, there was a wig and a cocked hat offered him, and he put it away with the back of his hand, thus; and then the Sunderland Radicals fell a-shouting.
Brutus. What was the second noise for?
Casca. Why, for that too.
Brutus. They shouted thrice—what was the last cry for?
Casca. Why, for that too—not to mention a municipal robe.
Brutus. Was the wig, &c, offered him thrice?
Casca. Ay, marry, was it, and he put the things by thrice, every time more savagely than before.
Brutus. Who offered him the wig?
Casca. Why, the Sunderland Municipality, of course—stoopid!