"APELLES: Cupid and my Campaspe playd At Cardes for kisses, Cupid payd; He stakes his Quiver, Bow, and Arrows, His Mothers doves, and teeme of sparrows; Looses them too; then, downe he throwes The corrall of his lippe, the rose Growing on’s cheek (but none knows how), With these, the cristall of his Brow, And then the dimple of his chinne: All these did my Campaspe winne. At last, hee set her both his eyes; Shee won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has shee done this to Thee? What shall (Alas!) become of mee?"