|
| SONGS |
| AND |
| SONETS |
|
| The Flea. |
|
| Mark but this Flea, and mark in this, |
| How little that which thou deny'st me is; |
| Me it suck'd first, and now it sucks thee, |
| And in this Flea, our two blouds mingled be; |
| Confess it. This cannot be said |
| A sin, or shame, or loss of Maidenhead, |
| Yet this enjoyes before it wooe, |
| And pamper'd swels with one bloud made of two, |
| And this, alas, is more then we could do. |
|
| Oh stay, three lives in one Flea spare, |
| Where we almost, nay, more then marry'd are. |
| This Flea is you and I, and this |
| Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is; |
| Though Parents grudge, and you, w'are met, |
| And cloysterd in these living walls of Jet. |
| Though use make you apt to kill me, |
| Let not to that, self-murder added be, |
| And sacriledge, three sins in killing three.
|
[CW: Cruell] |