Cupid and my Campaspe played
At cards for kisses,--Cupid paid;
He stakes his quiver, bow and arrows,
His mother's doves, and teams 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_