The Type is my Serif; I shall not Script.
He maketh me to lie down in green ligatures:
He leadeth me beside the still italics.
He restoreth my Didot:
He leadeth me in the paragraphs of righteousness for Bodoni’s sake.
Yea, though I walk through the valley of the Helvetica,
I will fear no Avenir: For thou art with me;
Thy Haberule will copycast, they justify me.
Thou preparest a colophon before me in the presence of Comic Sans;
Thou rules are half-pointest, but I toil not; My flimsy runneth over.
Surely Caslon and Baskerville shall follow me all the days of my life,
and I will dwell in the House of the Fonts forever.