The Pig (Response Poem)

March 7, 2014

The Flea, by John Donne

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;   

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.

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, we’re met,   

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

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;

    '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.

The Pig

You mark this flea, and mark it well—

See the way our blood has made it swell.

And since its undeserved feast,

Look: it has turned into a selfish beast.

Drunken brute, it just wants more,

No longer blessed with what it had before.

    A joyous act this could be, true,

    If blood had love for blood, or I for you,

    But this, thank God, is more than we would do.

Just two things end when I kill this flea:

Its life, and (I hope) your hope in having me.

For of wedded pairs, we are the least,

Unless you've made this bloated bug a priest

Or judge of love, or of respect

(Abilities I doubt in this insect).

    Too fat to flee, the flea lies dead;

    If ever ordained, it surely would have said:

    Marriage lives not only in marriage bed.

Alive or dead, the flea means naught,

So in your piggish mind, this means I ought

To yield to you, but I want no part

Of the pleasures you commit to without heart.

Though hearts have blood within their walls,

'Tis hearts, not blood, to which love truly calls.

     The flea and you have no excuse;

     Thus say your wasted efforts to seduce:

     The opposite of love is merely use.