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78. Pharmacist. Is something wrong? Let us fix it!/ Don’t let is grow and not be checked.../ All, in time, can be cured. / (Shake well before using!)
78. Pharmacist. Is something wrong? Let us fix it!/ Don’t let is grow and not be checked.../ All, in time, can be cured. / (Shake well before using!)

78. Pharmacist. Is something wrong? Let us fix it!/ Don’t let is grow and not be checked.../ All, in time, can be cured. / (Shake well before using!)

Alternate Titles
  • 100 Original Woodcuts by Posada
Artist (Mexican, 1852 - 1913)
Date1947
ClassificationsPrint
MediumColor woodcut
Dimensions3 1/8 x 2 3/4 in.
Credit LineGift of Jack Lord
Object number1973.100
Image Not Available for 12. All Hallow’s Eve. At last the day of all the dead has arrive,/ On which they rejoice, replete with pleasures without number./ In place of sad mourning for ourselves,/ Let us, with laughs and pulque, go cry in our cups.
12. All Hallow’s Eve. At last the day of all the dead has arrive,/ On which they rejoice, replete with pleasures without number./ In place of sad mourning for ourselves,/ Let us, with laughs and pulque, go cry in our cups.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
76. The Grim Reaper. Come! Let’s flee!/ But no one can escape;/ Death has to be, / And some go more cheaply than the rest.
76. The Grim Reaper. Come! Let’s flee!/ But no one can escape;/ Death has to be, / And some go more cheaply than the rest.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
95. Sharp Trader. Speak not of “honesty”;/ All talk through their hats— / And so do you!/ Let the buyer beware.../ One must live,/ And, you are a cheat!
95. Sharp Trader. Speak not of “honesty”;/ All talk through their hats— / And so do you!/ Let the buyer beware.../ One must live,/ And, you are a cheat!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
96. Yesteryear. These styles are not in fashion;/ I go back in time, in truth./ In those days all was covered,/ Today they’re almost nude!
96. Yesteryear. These styles are not in fashion;/ I go back in time, in truth./ In those days all was covered,/ Today they’re almost nude!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
98. Follower of the Emperor Maximilian. With Mejía and Miramón,/ I followed Maximilian;/ But the valiant Mexican people / Sent us with him to the grave.
98. Follower of the Emperor Maximilian. With Mejía and Miramón,/ I followed Maximilian;/ But the valiant Mexican people / Sent us with him to the grave.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
75. The Editor’s Reward. Having given us his best,/ He gets only criticism;/ Better— he should hear/ The heavenly flutes of angels.
75. The Editor’s Reward. Having given us his best,/ He gets only criticism;/ Better— he should hear/ The heavenly flutes of angels.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
3. The Changing World. How hard living is! —/ Remember, brothers,/ That, before, hands were pure,/ Now, there are hands only.
3. The Changing World. How hard living is! —/ Remember, brothers,/ That, before, hands were pure,/ Now, there are hands only.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
33. Honorable Man. Before you see me in the jail-house,/ Among dishonored men— /I’d rather you would find me/ Empailed on the horns of a bull.
33. Honorable Man. Before you see me in the jail-house,/ Among dishonored men— /I’d rather you would find me/ Empailed on the horns of a bull.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
46. Reminiscence. Who, on seeing what the present brings,/ Does not lament time gone by?/ Who is it who does not mourn/ That which time has taken away?
46. Reminiscence. Who, on seeing what the present brings,/ Does not lament time gone by?/ Who is it who does not mourn/ That which time has taken away?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
11. Thought for Hallowe’en. It is a palpable truth,/ That which is phrase states:/ That only he who was not born/ Can never be a skeleton.
11. Thought for Hallowe’en. It is a palpable truth,/ That which is phrase states:/ That only he who was not born/ Can never be a skeleton.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
24. The Exhausted Drum of War. The Drum of War cries out:/ “The drum of my head,/ “Like the drum that is my body,/ “No longer can admit/ “Rumors and clamors of war.”
24. The Exhausted Drum of War. The Drum of War cries out:/ “The drum of my head,/ “Like the drum that is my body,/ “No longer can admit/ “Rumors and clamors of war.”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
50. Designs. Little girl, you are growing/ Like a sprout of wheat;/ I can wait no longer/ To marry up with you.
50. Designs. Little girl, you are growing/ Like a sprout of wheat;/ I can wait no longer/ To marry up with you.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947