Mark but this flea, and mark in this
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
Yet this enjoys before it woo
And pamper'd 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, wе're met
And cloister'd in thеse 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 suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee