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CUPID and my Campaspe played
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?


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LIKE as a ship, that through the ocean wide,
By conduct of some star, doth make her way,
Whenas a storm hath dimm'd her trusty guide,
Out of her course doth wander far astray;
So I, whose star, that wont with her bright ray
Me to direct, with clouds is overcast,

Do wander now, in darkness and dismay,
Through hidden perils round about me plast:


Yet hope I well that, when this storm is past,
My Helice, the lodestar of my life,

Will shine again, and look on me at last,
With lovely light to clear my cloudy grief.
Till then I wander careful, comfortless,
In secret sorrow, and sad pensiveness.



LIKE as the culver, on the bared bough,
Sits mourning for the absence of her mate,
And in her songs sends many a wishful vow
For his return, that seems to linger late:
So I alone, now left disconsolate,

Mourn to myself the absence of my love;

And, wandering here and there all desolate,

Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove:
Ne joy of ought that under heaven doth hove,
Can comfort me, but her own joyous sight;
Whose sweet aspect both God and man can move,

In her unspotted pleasance to delight.

Dark is my day, whiles her fair light I miss,
And dead my life, that wants such lively bliss.


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