The folio of 1611, printed by Robert Barker, the king's printer, carried a dedication to James and a translators' preface, The Translators to the Reader, that remains the best account of the work's aims, disclaiming novelty and asking only to make a good translation better. Early printings were littered with variants and misprints, most notoriously the 1631 Wicked Bible, whose compositors dropped the word not from the seventh commandment; the text was progressively corrected until Benjamin Blayney's Oxford edition of 1769 fixed the standard spelling and wording read today.
Adoption was gradual rather than triumphant, the Geneva Bible holding popular loyalty for decades, but by the Restoration the King James text stood alone in English church use, and the centuries that followed made it something no translation had been before: the common literary possession of an entire language. Its phrases, the powers that be, a law unto themselves, the skin of my teeth, salt of the earth, passed into ordinary speech; Milton, Bunyan, Lincoln and King built on its rhythms.
The Apocrypha, part of the 1611 volume between the Testaments, fell away from most printings in the nineteenth century under Bible society policy. Revision produced descendants from the Revised Version of 1881 through the Revised Standard and New King James, yet the 1769 text remains in print, in liturgical use, and for some communities the preferred English Bible outright.