Translation.
Not many years ago (O best of patrons) a man most advised in every branch of life; one who has deserved well of the company of the learned; bound by the ties of family to yourself; a most shining light of the University of Cambridge; its jewel and glory, John Caius, wrote not without elegance to Conrad Gesner, a man exceedingly skilled and sagacious in the investigation of recondite matters; a man armed with everything that relates to natural history; the same man wrote an epitome concerning British dogs, not so concise as elegant and useful; an epitome compact of the various arguments and experiences of many minds; a book which when by chance I had met with it, and was covered with delight with the novelty of its appearance, I attempted to translate into English. After I had finished my task, a sudden conceit arose in me touching the dedication of the pamphlet, and after tossing many thoughts to and fro, the recollections (most ornate sir) of your benefits, as a ruddy star, by the splendour of its radiance, dissipates the misty clouds of the most foul oblivion, and brings a serenity brighter than that of the sun to the memory, shone on me; and that sentiment of duty which shaken by the most deadly bolts of hostile fortune torn and convulsed, had almost died, collected its shattered and most weakened strength, recovered its pristine vigour, and at last, from that bog of Lethe, nobly extricated itself and emerged. Out of which whirlpool as soon as it had escaped, it so flourished and so increased that it caught every cell of my mind under the influence of its rule and command. Now, however, I cease not to be occupied in the contemplation of your merits, the magnitude of which can scarcely be circumscribed in my thin coarse and slight thread of speech. This fact, by Jove, does not move me lightly, distresses me in no common manner, and pricks me with no shallow wound. There is besides another cause, which makes me pause, and in some manner tortures me, namely the suspicion of ingratitude, from which, as from another Lernean hydra, I have ever fled (as the phrase runs) with Achillean feet, and still I very much fear lest delay and procrastination of my duty brand my name with a shameful mark of carelessness. This so much the more I fear because that truth and common verse of the poet comes into my mind
It is a shame always to receive and never to give.
But (O most ornate Sir!) however the fear of that ill mightily stirs and
