CUSTOM BINDINGS & BOXES

Of a truth, 

the Foes of the Book-Lover are not few.

One of the moft infidious, becaufe he cometh at firft

in friendly, helpful Guife, is the 

Bookbinder.

Not in that he bindeth Books, 

for fair Bindings are the final 

Crown & Flower of painful Achievement, 

but becaufe he bindeth not; 

becaufe the weary Weeks lapfe by 

and turn to Months, the Months to Years, 

and ftill the Bookbinder bindeth not.

The Heart grows fick with Hope deferred,

ev’ry morn the Maiden binds her Locks,

ev’ry Spring the Honeyfuckle binds its cottage Porch,

ev’ry Autumn the Harvefter binds his Sheaves,

ev’ry Winter the iron Froft binds Lake & Stream,

and ftill the Bookbinder bindeth not.

Hark! A fecret Voice whifpereth:

Arife! Be a Man and flay him!

Take him grofsly, full of Bread with all

his Crimes boadblown as lufh as May;

at Gaming, Swearing, or about fome Act 

that hath no Relifh of Salvation in it!

But when the Deed is done, & the Floor ftrewn 

with Fragments of Binder, ftill the Books remain 

unbound.

You have made all that horrid Mefs for nothing, 

and the weary Path has to be trodden over again.

-Anon.