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,
The flea gets to exchange fluids with you, and it hasn’t even tried to court you; that is, it hasn’t written a nice poem for you, as I have. 

The Flea