Anser Tarpeii custos Iouis: unde quod alis Constreperes: Gallus decidit: ultor adest. Udalricus Gallus, ne quem poscantur in usum Edocuit pennis nil opus esse tuis. Imprimit ille die quantum non scribitur anno Ingenio: haud noceas: omnia vincit homo. Bird of Tarpeian Jove, though died the Gaul ’Gainst whom thou flap’dst thy wings, see vengeance fall. Another Gallus comes and thy pen-feather Goes out of fashion, beaten altogether. For what a quill can write the whole year through, This in a day, and more, his press will do. So, Goose, give over: there’s no other plan; Own yourself beaten by all-conquering man. In addition to their colophons, the printers, at least in Germany, used many modern forms of advertisement. When he returned to Augsburg from Venice, Ratdolt issued a splendid type-sheet with specimens of all his different founts. Schoeffer, the Brothers of the Common Life, Koberger, and other firms printed lists of their new books as broadsides, and gave their travellers similar sheets in which purchasers were promised “bonum venditorem” (a kindly seller), and a space was left for the name of the inn at which he displayed his wares, to be filled in by hand. We have all heard of Caxton’s advertisement of his Sarum Directory (most indigestible of “Pies”) and its final prayer, “Please don’t tear down the bill.” In 1474 Johann Müller of Königsberg (Iohannes Regiomontanus), the mathematician-printer, issued what I take to be the first fully developed publisher’s announcement, with a list of books “now ready” (haec duo explicita sunt), “shortly” (haec duo opera iam prope absoluta sunt), and those he hoped to undertake. Its last sentence is not strictly a colophon, but I am sure that I shall be forgiven for quoting it. “Postremo omnium,” it runs, “artem illam mirificam litterarum formatricem monimentis stabilibus mandare decretum est (deus bone faueas) qua re explicita si mox obdormierit opifex mors acerba non erit, quom tantum munus posteris in haereditate reliquerit, quo ipsi se ab inopia librorum perpetuo poterunt vindicare.”—“Lastly it has been determined to commit to abiding monuments that wondrous art of putting letters together (God of thy goodness be favorable!), and when this is done if the craftsman presently fall asleep death will not be bitter, in the assurance that he has left as a legacy to posterity this great gift by which they will forever be able to free themselves from lack of books.” Shortly after writing these words Müller was called to Rome by Sixtus IV to give his help in reforming the calendar, but his foreboding was not unfulfilled, for death came to him in 1476, only two years after this announcement was written. [Illustration] [Illustration] V PUBLISHERS’ COLOPHONS