Speak he will to the numerous ones, on whose goodwill the fate of my regard runs.
Faith, I must sweeten him with honey, his wagging tongue tame, that he will speak kindly and cast no slur upon my illustrious name.
O god of the hearth most kind, take this gift and sing sweet praises of me and mine. Here is toffee to glue your lips, and smoke most fragrant, your eyes to eclipse.
And finally, most esteemed teller of tales, who reports for all, accept this; ‘tis but colourful scraps, that you may throw around, what your heart desires, ‘twill cost naught at all!
O wonderful deity, o benevolent one, remember to paint me in rays of the sun.
Speak well of me, and you I shall keep, well-fed in spirit, and your pockets full-deep.
For mine is the power, to tear down your shrine, with a whispered word here, and through influence of mine.
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