The idiots are marching through the streets in processions from town to town, whipping their own backs until they are covered in blood, spreading the bloody Pestilence wherever they go! The dead pile in the streets like timber. "I was about to add," continued Gay, "that my opera shall have no music except the good old ballad tunes. And my word's law—with you, at least," she added, bestowing a cutting glance upon her husband.
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