Book VI, 66

Here Callimenes, his eye and hand enfeebled by age, dedicates to the laughter-loving Muses the never-moistened lead which draws that undeviating line on which is based the regularity of the script, the ruler which guides the course of this revolving lead, the porous stone like a sponge, the receptacle of the permanent ink, the pens themselves, too, their tips dyed black, the sponge, flower of the sea, forming the meadows of the liquid deep, and the knife, brazen artificer of slender pens.