|
| Our mariage bed, and mariage 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 mee, |
| Let not to that, selfe murder added bee, |
| And sacrilege, three sinnes in killing three. |
|
| Cruell and sodaine, hast thou since |
| Purpled thy naile, in blood of innocence? |
| Wherein could this flea guilty bee, |
| Except in that drop which it suckt from thee? |
| Yet thou triumph'st, and saist that thou |
| Find'st not thy selfe, nor mee the weaker now; |
| 'Tis true, then learne how false, feares bee; |
| Just so much honor, when thou yeeld'st to mee, |
| Will wast, as this flea's death tooke life from thee. |
|
|
| The Curse. |
|
| Who ever guesses, thinks, or dreames he knowes |
| Who is my mistris, wither by this curse; |
| His only, and only his purse |
| May some dull heart to love dispose, |
| And shee yeeld then to all that are his foes; |
| May he be scorn'd by one, whom all else scorne, |
| Forsweare to others, what to her he'hath sworne, |
| With feare of missing, shame of getting torne;
|
[CW: Madnesse] |