(A guard is walking down the road, push a cart full of dead bodies)

 collector: BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!.........BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!.........BRING OUT
 YOUR DEAD!.........BRING OUT YOUR DEAD!.........
 peasant: Wait, heres one.
 collector: Nine pence.
 old man: *I'm not dead*
 collector: What?
 peasant: Nothing, heres your nine pence.
 old man: *I'm not dead*
 collector: Hey, he says he's not dead.
 peasant: Yes he is.
 old man: *I'm not*
 collector: He isn't?
 peasant: Well, he will be soon.  He's old very ill.
 old man: *I think I,m getting better*
 peasant: No your not.  You'll be stone dead in a minute.
 collector: Well, I can't take him like that.  It's against regulations.
 old man: *I don't want to go on the cart*
 peasant: Awww....., don't be such a baby.
 collector: Look, I can't take him.
 old man: *I feel fine*
 peasant: Well, do us a favor.
 collector: I can't.
 peasant: Well, can you hang around a few minutes longer? He won't be long.
 collector: No, I got to go to the Robbinsons.  They've lost nine today.
 peasant: When's your next round?
 collector: Thursday.
 old man: *I think I'll go for a walk*
 peasant:  ( to old man) Your not fooling anyone.
      ( to collector) Look, isn't there something you could do?
 old man: *I feel happy! I feel happy!*

 (the collector looks around, sees nobody watching.  He then hits the old man
 with the mace, killing him)

 peasant: AH! Thanks very much. (drops body onto cart)
 collector: Not at all.  See you next Thursday.
 peasant: Right.  All right.

 (King Arthur and Patsy, still banging coconuts, go by)

 collector: Whose that?
 peasant: I dunno.
 collector: Must be a king.
 peasant: How do you know?
 collector: He doesn't have shit all over 'im.