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SONGS |
AND |
SONETS. |
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The Flea. |
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Marke but this flea, and marke in this, |
How little that which thou deny'st me is; |
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, |
And in this flea, our two bloods mingled bee; |
Thou know'st that this cannot be said |
A sinne, nor shame, nor losse of Maidenhead, |
Yet this enjoyes before it wooe, |
And pamper'd swels with one blood made of two, |
And this, alas, is more than we would doe. |
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Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare, |
Where we almost, yea more than maryed are. |
This flea is you and I, and this |
Our mariage bed, and mariage temple is; |
Though Parents grudge, and you, w'are met, |
And cloysterd in these living wals of Iet. |
Though use make you apt to kill mee, |
Let not to that, selfe-murder added bee, |
And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three,
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[CW: Cruell] |