Plate 7. _The Virago._ Her tongue and temper to subdue Can only be performed by you. Death is shown, in another plate, as the advocate of peace. It is night, and roysterers are staggering home, assisted by friends, or plundered by the harpies of darkness, according to their fortune. The watch is calling the hour, when good souls should sleep in peace. A fury of an old wife, kicking, fuming, and tearing, is considerately taken in hand by Death, the most effective tranquillising agent; her husband is bowing and lighting his reviling spouse, and her trusty keeper, to the door, while she is vainly screaming for the assistance of the watch. Her departure is viewed with rejoicing. Her husband follow'd to the gate Submissive to the will of fate. 'Farewell (he cried), my dearest dear! As I no more shall see you here, To my fond wish it may be given That we may meet again in Heaven; And since your daily clamours cease, On earth I hope to live in peace. Death, far away, my cares has carried. _Molly,--to-morrow we'll be married!_' Plate 8. _The Glutton._ What, do these sav'ry meats delight you? Begone, and stay till I invite you. A well-to-do gourmand has taken his place at a plentifully supplied table, whereon is spread all kinds of fare; attendants are ministering to his wants, and a handsome and elegantly dressed female is at his side; the arch-jester, Death, has suddenly dropped into a vacant arm-chair at the festive board; joints are scattered, plates are thrown down, the founder of the feast is starting forward in consternation; a male cook, and serving maids, bringing in fresh dishes, are losing their grasp of delicacies which will never, as it now appears, regale the gluttony of their master. The foot of the ghastly skeleton has touched an over-fed spaniel, and the dog lies stiff. Death is politely handing forth his hourglass like a goblet, wherein to pledge his host, and enjoying a cruel pleasantry at the expense of the master of the house. When the knight thought 'twere best be civil, And hold a candle to the devil, 'Do lay that ugly dart aside; A knife and fork shall be supplied; Come, change your glass for one of mine, That shall appear brimfull of wine; Perhaps you're hungry, and may feel A hankering to make a meal, So without compliment or words, Partake of what the house affords.' 'Avaunt,' cried Death, 'no more ado; I'm come to make a _meal_ of _you_!' Plate 9. _The Recruit._ I list you, and you'll soon be found One of my regiment under ground.