CUPID and my Campaspe play'd 
At cards for kisses--Cupid paid: 
He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, 
His mother's doves, and team of sparrows; 
Loses them too; then down he throws 
The coral of his lips, 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 for thee? 
   What shall, alas! become of me?