No book exists, however bad

My object is to collect into a common fold the stray sheep, to find a home for the pariahs of every nation. I do not then hesitate to notice the catchpennies hawked in the public streets, as well as the sumptuous volumes got up for the …

This book for men alone is meant, Book-worms, or bibliophiles anent, Of solid mind, of serious bent, On curious, hidden books intent, On odd research and learning.

When I survey the bright Celestial sphere; So rich with jewels hung, that Night Doth like an Ethiop bride appear:My soul her wings doth spread And heavenward flies, Th' Almighty's mysteries to read

For him delicious flavors dwell In books as in old Muscatel.

O thou who read'st what 's written here, Commiserate the lot severe, By which, compell'd, I write them. In vain Sophia I withstand, For Anna adds her dread command; I tremble—and indite them. Blame Eve, who, feeble to withstand One single …

Since honour from the honourer proceeds, How well do they deserve that memorize And leave in Books, for all posterities The names of worthies and their virtuous deeds.