|
| SONGS |
| AND |
| SONETS. |
|
| The Flea. |
|
| 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. |
|
| 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,
|
[CW: Cruell] |