Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses: Cupid paid.
He stakes his quiver, bows and arrows,
His mother's doves and team of sparrows;
Loses them too; then down he throws
The coral of his lip, the rose
Growing on 's cheek, but none knows how;
With these the crystal of his brow,
And then the dimple of his chin--
All these did my Campaspe win.
At last he set her both his eyes.--
She won, and Cupid blind did rise.
O Love, has she done this to thee?
What shall, alas! become of me?
John Lyly.