Open Letter To A Brueghelian Peasant.

Dear Serf,

The skeletal fish swimming in its sea of stone does not foresee the fossil forming sediment, nor can the bulbous amber eye of the fatted calf espy the suckling spit that it will roll upon. With a bodyful of bubonic and the Wife of Bath bouncing on your bony knee you could have hit the plague pit smiling. But you prefer to drape yourself in dung and clip the toenails of Erasmus. Yes. The plague pit and the pendulum await your pitchforked corpse so take your pick, peasant: El Diablo or Le Jongleur?

Your sincerely,
Stephenesque