is was a Printing Office;
Crossroads of Civilisation;
Refuge of all the Arts, Against the ravages of time;
Armoury of fearless truth, Against whispering rumour;
Incessant trumpet of trade;
From this place words may fly abroad;
Not to perish on waves of sound;
Not to vary with the writer's hand;
But fixed in time having been verified in proof;
Friend you stand on sacred ground;
This is a Printing Office.
– Beatrice Warde
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