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Mark but this flea, and mark in this, |
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How little that which thou deniest me is; |
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It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee, |
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And in this flea our two bloods mingled be. |
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Thou know'st that this cannot be said |
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A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead; |
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Yet this enjoys before it woo, |
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And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two; |
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And this, alas! is more than we would do. |
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O stay, three lives in one flea spare, |
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Where we almost, yea, more than married are. |
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This flea is you and I, and this |
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Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is. |
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Though parents grudge, and you, we're met, |
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And cloister'd in these living walls of jet. |
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Though use make you apt to kill me, |
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Let not to that self-murder added be, |
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And sacrilege, three sins in killing three. |
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Cruel and sudden, hast thou since |
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Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence? |
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Wherein could this flea guilty be, |
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Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee? |
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Yet thou triumph'st and say'st that thou |
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Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now. |
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'Tis true; then learn how false fears be; |
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Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me, |
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Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee. |
