Skip to main content
Collections Menu
40. High Cost of Living. Prices rise higher and higher;/ My salary no longer stretches,/ To play the market is one thing—/ Marketing, quite another.
40. High Cost of Living. Prices rise higher and higher;/ My salary no longer stretches,/ To play the market is one thing—/ Marketing, quite another.

40. High Cost of Living. Prices rise higher and higher;/ My salary no longer stretches,/ To play the market is one thing—/ Marketing, quite another.

Alternate Titles
  • 100 Original Woodcuts by Posada
Artist (Mexican, 1852 - 1913)
Date1947
ClassificationsPrint
MediumColor woodcut
DimensionsImage area: 3 3/16 x 2 3/4 in. (8.1 x 7 cm) Sheet: 9 3/16 x 6 5/16 in. (23.3 x 16 cm)
Credit LineGift of Jack Lord
Object number1973.23.40
72. The Store of “Fair Prices”. With our fair prices/ We never cheat you—/ But my clerks are astute,/ And know a trick or two.
72. The Store of “Fair Prices”. With our fair prices/ We never cheat you—/ But my clerks are astute,/ And know a trick or two.
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
26. The Power of Verse. This happened— it is true— /Yet no one will believe it;/ A fool began to read/ My verses at a funeral—/ And the Living fell down dead,/ And the Dead began to run!
26. The Power of Verse. This happened— it is true— /Yet no one will believe it;/ A fool began to read/ My verses at a funeral—/ And the Living fell down dead,/ And the Dead began to run!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
43. The Foolish Middle Years. For a frivolous woman/ My soul leaps into the unknown./ “Shut that gaping mouth, old fool,/ “You no longer signify.”
43. The Foolish Middle Years. For a frivolous woman/ My soul leaps into the unknown./ “Shut that gaping mouth, old fool,/ “You no longer signify.”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
86. Monopolist. I raised the price of beans;/ I cornered the market on corn./ And where do you want to put/ The grim memories of me.
86. Monopolist. I raised the price of beans;/ I cornered the market on corn./ And where do you want to put/ The grim memories of me.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
15. The Jurist. “The law imparts justice,”/ Says the gowned-one with aplomb./ But, oh! how justice is unhinged,/ When you haven’t got the price.
15. The Jurist. “The law imparts justice,”/ Says the gowned-one with aplomb./ But, oh! how justice is unhinged,/ When you haven’t got the price.
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
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
44. Calavera of the Churlish Sacristans. Churlish sacristans,/ Lazy and dirty,/ Scamps you have become,/ Stinking to high heaven.
44. Calavera of the Churlish Sacristans. Churlish sacristans,/ Lazy and dirty,/ Scamps you have become,/ Stinking to high heaven.
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
20. The Petulant Dolphin. Said a dolphin, criticized,/ “Do you read music?—/ “Nor do I./ “As David said:/ “There’s your harp,/ “Play it yourself!”
20. The Petulant Dolphin. Said a dolphin, criticized,/ “Do you read music?—/ “Nor do I./ “As David said:/ “There’s your harp,/ “Play it yourself!”
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
57. Hallowe’en Imp. Oh! My, my! Here comes Death!/ Everyone it seizes! My luck is short!/ I don’t believe Death even spares his mother!
57. Hallowe’en Imp. Oh! My, my! Here comes Death!/ Everyone it seizes! My luck is short!/ I don’t believe Death even spares his mother!
José Guadalupe Posada
1947
6. Late Reveler. Little lamp that lights my street,/ Now that I am seeing double,/ Why is it you are hiding?/ Or is it you who blocks my way?
6. Late Reveler. Little lamp that lights my street,/ Now that I am seeing double,/ Why is it you are hiding?/ Or is it you who blocks my way?
José Guadalupe Posada
1947