The Dance of Death: The Apothecary

Rowlandson's aquatint — etched outline flooded with hand-applied watercolor washes — drops Death's skeleton into a crowded apothecary's shop. A corpulent druggist holds a vial aloft while a sick woman slumps attended by relatives; jugs, jars, and specimen bottles crowd the shelves. Death lurks behind a curtain at right, grinning proprietorially. The caption reads: I have a secret art to cure / Each malady which men endure. The class bite is real: the quack-apothecary preys on the poor while Death collects his commission. Rowlandson's exaggerated anatomy — bulging guts, rubbery limbs — belongs to the Gillray tradition of grotesque caricature that British satirical printmaking refined across the 18th century. That vocabulary of sequential moral narrative, comic exaggeration, and bundled text passed directly into the comic strip.