THE FLEA.
MARK but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is ;
It suckd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou knowst that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead ;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamperd swells with one blood made of two ;
And this, alas ! is more than we would do.
O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, were met,
And cloisterd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.
Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suckd from thee?
Yet thou triumphst, and sayst that thou
Findst not thyself nor me the weaker now.
Tis true ; then learn how false fears be ;
Just so much honour, when thou yieldst to me,
Will waste, as this fleas death took life from thee.
THE GOOD-MORROW.
I WONDER by my troth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved ? were we not weand till then ?
But suckd on country pleasures, childishly ?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers den ?
Twas so ; but this, all pleasures fancies be ;
If ever any beauty I did see,
Which I desired, 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 controls,
And makes one little room an everywhere.
Let sea-discoverers to new worlds have gone ;
Let maps to other, worlds on worlds 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 better hemispheres
Without sharp north, without declining west ?
Whatever dies, was not mixd equally ;
If our two loves be one, or thou and I
Love so alike that none can slacken, none can die.
SONG.
GO and catch a falling star,
Get with child a mandrake root,
Tell me where all past years are,
Or who cleft the devils foot,
Teach me to hear mermaids singing,
Or to keep off envys stinging,
And find
What wind
Serves to advance an honest mind.
If thou best born to strange sights,
Things invisible to see,
Ride ten thousand days and nights,
Till age snow white hairs on thee,
Thou, when thou returnst, wilt tell me,
All strange wonders that befell thee,
And swear,
No where
Lives a woman true and fair.
If thou findst one, let me know,
Such a pilgrimage were sweet;
Yet do not, I would not go,
Though at next door we might meet,
Though she were true, when you met her,
And last, till you write your letter,
Yet she
Will be
False, ere I come, to two, or three.
WOMANS CONSTANCY.
NOW thou hast loved me one whole day,
To-morrow when thou leavest, what wilt thou say ?
Wilt thou then antedate some new-made vow ?
Or say that now
We are not just those persons which we were ?
Or that oaths made in reverential fear
Of Love, and his wrath, any may forswear ?
Or, as true deaths true marriages untie,
So lovers contracts, images of those,
Bind but till sleep, deaths image, them unloose ?
Or, your own end to justify,
For having purposed change and falsehood, you
Can have no way but falsehood to be true ?
Vain lunatic, against these scapes I could
Dispute, and conquer, if I would ;
Which I abstain to do,
For by to-morrow I may think so too.
THE UNDERTAKING.
I HAVE done one braver thing
Than all the Worthies did ;
And yet a braver thence doth spring,
Which is, to keep that hid.
It were but madness now to impart
The skill of specular stone,
When he, which can have learnd the art
To cut it, can find none.
So, if I now should utter this,
Others—because no more
Such stuff to work upon, there is—
Would love but as before.
But he who loveliness within
Hath found, all outward loathes,
For he who color loves, and skin,
Loves but their oldest clothes.
If, as I have, you also do
Virtue in woman see,
And dare love that, and say so too,
And forget the He and She ;
And if this love, though plac鑔 so,
From profane men you hide,
Which will no faith on this bestow,
Or, if they do, deride ;
Then you have done a braver thing
Than all the Worthies did ;
And a braver thence will spring,
Which is, to keep that hid.
THE SUN RISING.
BUSY old fool, unruly Sun,
Why dost thou thus,
Through windows, and through curtains, call on us ?
Must to thy motions lovers seasons run ?
Saucy pedantic wretch, go chide
Late school-boys and sour prentices,
Go tell court-huntsmen that the king will ride,
Call country ants to harvest offices ;
Love, all alike, no season knows nor clime,
Nor hours, days, months, which are the rags of time.
Thy beams so reverend, and strong
Why shouldst thou think ?
I could eclipse and cloud them with a wink,
But that I would not lose her sight so long.
If her eyes have not blinded thine,
Look, and to-morrow late tell me,
Whether both th Indias of spice and mine
Be where thou leftst them, or lie here with me.
Ask for those kings whom thou sawst yesterday,
And thou shalt hear, "All here in one bed lay."
Shes all states, and all princes I ;
Nothing else is ;
Princes do but play us ; compared to this,
All honours mimic, all wealth alchemy.
Thou, Sun, art half as happy as we,
In that the worlds contracted thus ;
Thine age asks ease, and since thy duties be
To warm the world, thats done in warming us.
Shine here to us, and thou art everywhere ;
This bed thy center is, these walls thy sphere.
THE INDIFFERENT.
I CAN love both fair and brown ;
Her whom abundance melts, and her whom want betrays ;
Her who loves loneness best, and her who masks and plays ;
Her whom the country formd, and whom the town ;
Her who believes, and her who tries ;
Her who still weeps with spongy eyes,
And her who is dry cork, and never cries.
I can love her, and her, and you, and you ;
I can love any, so she be not true.
Will no other vice content you ?
Will it not serve your turn to do as did your mothers ?
Or have you all old vices spent, and now would find out others ?
Or doth a fear that men are true torment you ?
O we are not, be not you so ;
Let me—and do you—twenty know ;
Rob me, but bind me not, and let me go.
Must I, who came to travel thorough you,
Grow your fixd subject, because you are true ?
Venus heard me sigh this song ;
And by loves sweetest part, variety, she swore,
She heard not this till now ; and that it should be so no more.
She went, examined, and returnd ere long,
And said, "Alas ! some two or three
Poor heretics in love there be,
Which think to stablish dangerous constancy.
But I have told them, Since you will be true,
You shall be true to them whore false to you. "