File:The English dance of death, from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson; (1903) (14582192359).jpg

Identifier: englishdanceofde01comb (find matches)
Title: The English dance of death, from the designs of Thomas Rowlandson;
Year: 1903 (1900s)
Authors: Combe, William, 1742-1823 Rowlandson, Thomas, 1756-1827
Subjects: Dance of death
Publisher: London, Methuen and co.
Contributing Library: Duke University Libraries
Digitizing Sponsor: Duke University Libraries

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the Workis borrowed, it may, perhaps, be allowed someClaim to local and characteristic Originality. Themost serious Subject attached to our Nature is,indeed, presented with a Degree of familiar Plea-santry which is not common to it:—But, in thisParticular, the Example of the Painters who firstsuggested and propagated the Idea has been fol-lowed, and no other Vivacity has been displayedin these Pages, than has been found on the Wallsof Edifices dedicated to Religion; and was thusrepresented in the Cloisters of St. Pauls, beforethe sacrilegious Pride of the Protector Somersetcaused the Dilapidation of that Appendage to theMetropolitan Church of the Kingdom.—But I amnot afraid of being accused by reflecting Minds,of having introduced an unbecoming Levity intothe following Pages: for that Writer may surelyclaim the Approbation of the grave and the good,who familiarises the Mind with Death, by con-necting it, in any way, with the various Situationsand Circumstances of Life. THE AUTHOR
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TIME AND DEATHAN INTRODUCTORY DIALOGUE DEATH 1 Father Time ! tis well we are met:I am disposd to fume and fret,To see that mortals have the powerThus to prolong Lifes fleeting hour;To see them thus display the artThat blunts my unavailing dart;And, though the fatal arrows sped,To make men live when they are dead :While you with placid eye look on,Nor blame the mischief that is done :Nay, suffer the records to lastWhen many an age is gone and past.You, in your motions, are so slow,With such a measurd step you go,vol. i.—A ENGLISH DANCE OF DEATH That were it not for sword and fire,Earthquakes, and storms and tempests dire,Temples and towers of ancient daysWould now their perfect structures raise.Nay, still the Antiquarians toilDigs deep for Greek and Roman spoil,In Desolations arid fieldsThe perforated cavern yieldsThe vase, the statue, and the bust,Raisd from th accumulated dust.Thus, neath the modern dome appearsThe treasures of far distant years,Which, by their various forms impart

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