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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]