You, who to fam'd Guarini, now he's dead,
Your verses consecrate, and statues rear,
For that sweet Padan swan your tears have shed,
Sweetest that ever did, or will sing here.
Behold this picture on his fun'ral pile,
Your mournful spirits 'twill with joy revive,
Tho' th' artist cheats your senses all the while,
For 'tis but paint which you would swear does live.
This serves to keep our friend in memory,
Since d**h hath robb'd us of his better part,
And that he so might live as ne'er to die,
He drew himself too, but with diff'rent art.
Judge, which with greatest life and spirit looks,
Borgianni's painting, or Guarini's Books.