The Poems of Tibullus and the Elegies of Sulpicia

X

Twenty years ago, Tibullus appeared, polished by my youthful efforts, but in such an unkempt and unsightly external state, and so foully defiled by typographical errors, that it was wearisome and shameful to look at him; so bruised and covered in welts and ulcers inflicted by the printer was everything. This is that unjust fate of the Germans in these letters, that, while in other nations classical books recalled to the press are usually bought by most because of their typographical splendor and adornment, on the contrary, the labors of our learned men are often printed on such dirty and filthy paper, with such dull and worn-out letter forms, and so lazily and defectively, that they move to disgust even at first sight those foreigners who perhaps attribute more to the recommendation of elegance than they should. From this it happens that editions of classical writers adorned by our countrymen are rarely exported beyond the borders of Germany. Since, therefore, the publisher of the book, a most honest man, Junius, having long since run out of copies, had dealt with me that I should revise the book, and recently—