A Malediction: Forbidding His Advances After “The Flea” by John Donne Indeed, I mark your “little” flea, yet I see in it no romantic sanctity— The drops of our blood it holds are so few that likening it to our love simply won’t do. ’Tis true, a flea bite brings no shame; you err in saying that it would be the same As forcing me to share my body, whole— to give you life at the expense of my soul. Unlike the flea, you need to charm me respectfully if you wish no harm. Not bugs, but humans we are, you and I, Thus mutual rules of love we must abide by. Your bawdy pleas have twisted this innocent flea into a symbol of guilt; it must die to set me free. As I bring its insectile life to a halt, I ask you to consider your hideous faults: You reduce my lifeblood to the marriage bed that the flea represents; thus I dread living within this flea more than I scorn its death. You put disgrace on its destruction with every breath as though that would entice me to submit; I’d kill this flea first before that lower crime commit. You would tolerate my “grudge” if your love was real— this flea’s life, then, I wouldn’t have to steal. So I must execute this flea and your lust— that deadly sin “mingling” in its blood makes me just. Yet you persist—you deem me cruel, as though, for your passion, my guilt is the fuel! Although the flea’s death did not weaken me, I condemn your continued comparative pleas. My honor and dignity are vaster than the blot of blood the flea sucked—their depths you know not! It is a greater desecration of my soul to give myself to your pride than a drop to this flea to live. Yet I cannot sustain myself on your malignity; I must find a lover who will treat me with dignity.
Natalie Gildea ‘23 34
