Cupid and Campaspe

By John Lyly (1554 ~ 1606)
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 on his chin;
All these did my Campaspe win:
And 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?

Like as a huntsman after weary chase

By Edmund Spenser (1553 ~ 1599)
Like as a huntsman after weary chase,
Seeing the game from him escap'd away,
Sits down to rest him in some shady place,

With panting hounds beguil'd with their prey:
So after long pursuit and vain assay,
When I all weary had the chase forsook
The gentle deer returned the selfsame way,
Thinking to quench her thirst at the next brook.

There she beholding me with milder look,
Sought not to fly, but fearless still did bide:
Till I in hand her yet half trembling took,
And with her own good will her firmly tied.

Strange thing me seemed to see a beast so wild,
So goodly won with her own will beguiled.