another again condensed the mixture by adding every sort of hodge-podge, even dust and sweepings, so that it appeared to be freshly made up. Then they erected inscriptions that were even more pompous than those of the others, and like other quacks, each one impudently praised his own wares. Then I both wondered and angered that (as I said before) hardly ever did anyone examine the internal substance; rather did they take everything, or at least without choice; and if some did indeed choose, they only contemplated the outward appearance and the inscription.[1] And then I understood why so few attained the inward freshness of the mind; for the more of these medicines each man devoured, the more he vomited, turned pale, faded and decayed. And I saw also that a large number of these delightful medicaments were not even used by men, but became the portion of moths, worms, spiders, and flies, and were lost in the midst of dust and mould in dark presses and remote corners.
Fearing this fate, some, as soon as they had prepared their theriac (some, indeed, before they had begun to prepare it), ran to their neighbours asking them for prefaces, verses, anagrams; they instantly searched for patrons, who should lend their names and purses to the new preparations; they instantly wrote the title and inscription in the most ornate fashion; they instantly embellished the divers figures and engravings with curling flowers; also they themselves carried them among the people,
- ↑ This, of course, refers to the binding and lettering of books.
