In short, your triumph's now so plain,
They never dare find fault again.
Well, then: don't go and be so hateful,
As to turn round, and prove ungrateful,
Drawing fresh pertness from my page,
E'en should you reach Methus'lem's age,
And whilst I've plann'd my whole endeavour,
For you and for your 'AIRS' for ever!
Now then for conjuration tricks:
Turn bottles into candlesticks,