They [the Stationers] have so pestered their printing-houses and shops
with fruitless volumes that the ancient and renowned authors are almost
buried among them as forgotten; and that they have so much work to
prefer their termly pamphlets, which they provide to take up the
people's money and time, that there is neither of them left to bestow on
a profitable book: so they who desire knowledge are still kept ignorant;
their ignorance increaseth their affection to vain toys; their
affection makes the stationer to increase his provision of such stuff,
and at last you shall see nothing to be sold amongst us but Curranto's
_Bevis of Southampton_ or such trumpery. The Arts are already almost
lost among the writings of mountebank authors. For if any one among us
would study Physic, the Mathematics, Poetry, or any of the liberal
sciences, they have in their warehouses so many volumes of quack-salving
receipts; of false propositions; and of inartificial rhymings (of which
last sort they have some of mine there, God forgive me!) that unless we
be directed by some artist, we shall spend half our age before we can
find those authors which are worth our readings. For what need the
stationer be at the charge of printing the labours of him that is master
of his art, and will require that respect which his pain deserveth,
seeing he can hire for a matter of forty shillings some needy ignoramus
to scribble upon the same subject, and by a large promising title, make
it as vendible for an impression or two, as though it had the
quintessence of all art?--G. WITHER. _The Scholler's Purgatory._