Cupid and my Campaspe playd At cards for kisses: Cupid paid. He stakes his quiver, bow, and arrows, His mothers 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 on 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?