N8

My size is prepared, The leaf is laid out, My agate is polished and smooth. The press, it is loaded, The edge has been scraped, I feel like I'm in the groove. I put on the size, I lay on the gold, My confidence reaching its peak. I polish the edge, Till I see by its shine, The edge of perfection I seek. I take the book out, Fan open the leaves, My heart stops still in mid-beat. Where has the gold gone, I look all around. As the leaf flakes onto my feet. Oh, where did I err, I did everything right, But the gold, it just didn’t stick. I love the gilt edge, But the process is such, That it leaves me feeling quite sick.

- Unknown Gilder ca 17thC