Quivi qual foste gia, non qual sarète.
Con diletto mirando, in onta agli anni
Vostre belle sembianze ancor vedrete.
Scorn not, dear maid, this fond but faithful lay,
That pictures, on no perishable page,
Thy beauties, rescued from the spoils of age,
To live and blossom with thy poet's bay:
For when remorseless Time brings on decay,
When the loath'd mirror shall no more engage
Thy smiles, distorted into grief and rage,