On a Flea on his Mistress’s Bosom

Madam, that flea which crept between your breasts
I envied, that there he should make his rest;
The little creature’s fortune was so good
That angels feed not on so precious food.
How it did suck, how eager tickle you!
—Madam, shall fleas before me tickle you?—
O! I not hold can; pardon if I killed it;
—Sweet blood, to you I ask this—that which filled it
Ran from my lady’s breast. Come, happy flea,
That died for sucking of that milky sea.
O! now again I could e’en wish thee there,
About her heart, about her anywhere;
I would now (dear flea) that thou shouldst not die,
If thou couldst suck from her her cruelty: