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 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?