Love's Play at Push-Pin

Love and myself, believe me, on a dayAt childish push-pin, for our sport, did play;I put, he pushed, and, heedless of my skin,Love pricked my finger with a golden pin;Since which it festers so that I can prove'Twas but a trick to poison me with love:Little the wound was, greater was the smart,The finger bled, but burnt was all my heart.