(The Author) complains of himself, and alludes to Firdausī.

O word-conjoining sorcerer have done! How long, how long will you speak bygone words*722?
Like to the rose breathe out from your own mouth; enough that your own mouth perfume your work.
E’en at the first my covenant was made—with whom?—with Him whose covenants are true
That what a certain other bard had said*723—I still drink wine, but he has gone to sleep*724
I would not make (such) thought of his my own: ill-doing I’d not make my attribute*725.
So far as may be, like the vernal breeze, my claim shall not be patching up old things*726.
Still, to the treasury when one the road—the target one, although the arrows two*727
Though in the art of boring pearls*728 I’ve bound myself not to repeat what has been said*729,
When repetition I can not avoid, I can produce fine silk from woollen stuff*730.
Two workers*731 by the alchemy of speech have turned old metal into something new*732:
That one has made from copper silver pure, and from the silver this one makes pure gold*733.
Since you’ve seen copper to fine silver turned*734, be not surprised if silver turns to gold.