Prolegomena.

[...judgment, and please the listeners] as they justly may. This is because poetry has a life, a pulse, and such a secret energy that it leaves a far deeper impression on the mind than the flow and uneven rhythms of prose. Through this power, poetry won over the world so completely that in unrefined times original: "Rude Times", and even among uncivilized nations where other types of learning were excluded, nothing was held in higher esteem.

As for what we call rhythm Rythme, the custom of many of our Saxon and Norman poets shows the high opinion they had of it. Even the Latin language—despite its excellence—could not sufficiently delight their ears unless their verses in that language were formed with a harmonious cadence and brought into rhyme. Nor did the ancients hide their greatest mysteries anywhere else but in the symbolic and metaphorical original: "Parabolical & Allusive" parts of poetry. They considered this the most sacred and venerable form, and the safest way to keep secrets from the uninitiated and the common-minded original: "Prophane and Vulgar Wits".

For such was the goodness of our ancestors Fathers that they would not willingly risk (much less throw) their "children’s bread" to the "dogs." Therefore, their wisdom and strategy was first to find a way to teach, and then to find an art—which was poetry—to conceal. In short, to prefer prose over poetry is no better than letting a crude peasant Rough-hewen-Clowne take the place of honor original: "take the Wall," a phrase referring to the cleaner, safer path next to a wall in narrow streets, reserved for social superiors. over a noble lady, or to hang a royal reception room Presence Chamber with coarse tarpaulin instead of fine tapestry.

And for these reasons, and out of these considerations, I believed the poetic works deserved to come first.

However, it is likely that some of these pieces—now brought to public light—would have nearly perished in silent ruin. Destruction would have achieved a complete victory over them if my diligence and laborious investigation Inquisition had not rescued them from its jaws. They were almost entirely shrouded in the dust of antiquity and lost in the obscurity of forgotten things, with their pages half worm-eaten. It is a wonder that, like the creatures in Noah’s Ark, they were preserved so safely until now from that universal flood which—at the time of the dissolution of the monasteries Dissolution of Abbies—overflowed our greatest libraries.

In doing this, I do not think it arrogant to claim the reputation of performing a work nearly as significant as if it were my own original creation. In fact, it is something more: as if I possessed the Elixir Elixir itself, I have made old age become young and lively again. I have restored each of these ancient writers not only to the "spring" of their various beauties but to the "summer" of their strength and perfection.