The Flea

JohnDonne

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,

How little that which thou deny’st me is;

Me it sucked first, and now sucksthee, 

And in this flea, our two bloods mingledbe; Confess it, this cannot be said 

A sin, or shame, or loss of maidenhead, 

Yet this enjoys before it woo, 

And pampered swells with one blood made oftwo, 

And this, alas, is more than we woulddo. 

 

Oh stay, three lives in one fleaspare, 

Where we almost, nay more than marriedare. 

This flea is you and I, and this 

Our marriage bed, and marriage templeis; 

Though parents grudge, and you, we aremet, 

And cloistered in these living walls ofjet. 

Though use make you apt to kill me, 

 Let not to this, self murder addedbe, 

 And sacrilege, three sins in killingthree. 

 

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since 

Purpled thy nail, in blood ofinnocence? 

In what could this flea guilty be, 

Except in that drop which it sucked fromthee? 

Yet thou triumph’st, and say’st thatthou 

Find’st not thyself, nor me the weakernow; 

’Tis true, then learn how false, fearsbe; 

Just so much honour, when thou yield’st tome, 

 Will waste, as this flea’s death tooklife from thee.