|
| Cruel and sodain, hast thou since |
| Purpled thy Nayl in bloud of innocence? |
| Wherein could this Flea guilty be, |
| Except in that bloud which it suck'd from thee? |
| Yet thou triumph'st, and saist that thou |
| Find'st not thy self, nor me the weaker now; |
| 'Tis true; then learn how false, fears be; |
| Just so much honour, when thou yeeldst to mee, |
| Will wast, as this Flea's death took life from thee. |
|
| The Good-morrow. |
|
| I wonder, by my troth, what thou, and I |
| Did, till we lov'd? were we not wean'd till then, |
| But suck'd on childish pleasures seelily? |
| Or slumbred we in the seven-sleepers den? |
| 'Twas so; but as all pleasures fancies be, |
| If ever any beauty I did see, |
| Which I desir'd, and got, 'twas but a dream of thee. |
|
| And now good-morrow to our waking souls, |
| Which watch not one another out of fear; |
| For love all love of other sights controuls, |
| And makes one little room, an every where. |
| Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone, |
| Let Maps to other worlds our world have shown, |
| Let us possess one world, each hath one, and is one. |
|
| My face in thine eye, thine in mine appears, |
| And true plain hearts do in the faces rest; |
| Where can we find two fitter hemisphears |
| Without sharp North, without declining West?
|
[CW: What] |