Such is the power and such the strife
That ends the masquerade of life.
A masked ball is represented at its height, gaily attended, and held in the Pantheon or some similar building. A dance is proceeding; the most diversified scenes meet the eye on all sides, and Rowlandson has given full play to his humorous inventive faculties. In the front of the picture the crowd of merrymakers, all unthinking and unprepared, are horrified to discover a new turn abruptly given to the travesty; the tall figure of Death has suddenly cast away his disguising domino, and holding aside a demoniac mask, is revealing to the terrified spectators the actual figure of the skeleton-destroyer, armed with his dart, and in grim earnest to strike. Harlequins, nuns, monks, devils, Turks, toxopholites, bacchantes, jockeys, Punch, Falstaff, Jupiter, Ophelia, Friar Tuck, watchmen, magicians, fair enchantresses and Circassians, archbishops, Roman heroes, and Grand Signiors—characters in vogue in Rowlandson's day—are thrown down pell-mell and trampling one over the other in their eagerness to get as far away as possible from this unwelcome and awful addition to the excitement of the revelry; this ghastly joker who with unequivocal reality is threatening to extinguish their gaieties for ever.
Plate 25. The Deathblow.
How vain are all your triumphs past,
For this set-to will be your last.
Two prize-fighters have met on Epsom Downs to decide the championship of the 'Ring,' with umpires, bottle-holders, and all the paraphernalia of the 'fancy.' In the artist's picture one of the combatants has received a fatal blow, and he is stretched lifeless on the turf. The grim figure of Death, the bony personification which permeates the series, has suddenly joined the sport, and he is squaring up to the scared victor in a scientific and confident attitude; the horrified champion is unconsciously raising his strong arms to guard himself against this new opponent, though justly disinclined to continue such an unequal contest. Impressed by the fatal ending of the man he has beaten the winner has conscientiously registered a vow, on the spur of the moment, 'to never fight again.'
But Death appear'd! Once more, my friend,
Yes, one round more, and all will end.
The crowds of fashionable and sporting spectators are all dispersing at the top of their speed, running and driving away from this unexpected opponent, and turning their backs on this involuntary renewal of their favourite diversion.
Confusion reign'd throughout the scene,
And the crowds hurried from the Green.
The roads were quickly covered o'er
With chaise and pair and chaise and four,
While curricles and gigs display
The rapid fury of their way,
And many a downfall grac'd the day.
As Playgame claim'd a flying bet,
His new-built tilb'ry was o'erset:
Lord Gammon's barouche met its fate
In contact with a turnpike-gate;
And Ned Fly's gig, that hurried after,
Was plung'd into a pond of water.
But, would it not be vain to tell
The various chances that befel
Horsemen and footmen who that day
From Death's dread challenge ran away?
For when th' affrighted crowd was gone,
And Death and Harry were alone,
The spectre hasten'd to propose
That they should forthwith come to blows;
But Harry thought it right to say,
'As no one's here to see fair play,
I'll try your strength another day.
Besides, I know not how you're made,
I look for substance, you're a Shade,
A bag of bones; for aught I know,
Old Broughton, from the shades below:
And though alive I should not dread
His power, I war not with the dead.'
Thus keeping well his guard he spoke,
When grinning Death put in a stroke
Which did the short-liv'd round decide,
And Sheffield Harry, in his pride,
Was laid by Tom from London's side.
Plate 26. The Vision of Skulls. (In the Catacombs.)
As it appears, though dead so long,
Each skull is found to have a tongue.