Opening the book…
The Flea
Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It sucked me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be;
5 Thou know’st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead,
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pampered swells with one blood made of two,
And this, alas, is more than we would do.
10 Oh stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, nay more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is;
Though parents grudge, and you, w'are met,
15 And cloistered 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
20 Purpled thy nail, in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it sucked from thee?
Yet thou triumph’st, and say'st that thou
Find’st not thy self, nor me the weaker now;
25 ’Tis true; then learn how false, fears be:
Just so much honor, when thou yield’st to me,
Will waste, as this flea’s death took life from thee.
Work Cited
Donne, John. "The Flea." The Poems of John Donne: Edited from the Old Editions and Numerous Manuscripts, introductions and commentary by Herbert J. C. Grierson, vol. 1, University of Oxford, 1912, pp. 40-41. Project Gutenberg, (Public Domain).
This page titled 3.13: "The Flea" was last modified on Fri, 07 Aug 2026 23:14:41 GMT and is shared under a CC BY-SA 4.0 license and was authored, remixed, and/or curated by Kelsey Ford.
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