John Donne was born in 1572 in Bread Street, London. Donne was born into a Roman Catholic family. His parents were John and Elizabeth Donne and they had three children. His father was an ironmonger who died in 1576. When Donne was eleven he attended school at the University of Oxford for three years. From there he attended the University of Cambridge for an additional three year but did not receive a degree at either university. In the year of 1593 Donne’s brother dies in a prison and Donne starts to question his faith. He starts to write some of his first poems during this time. The books that he wrote during this time were Satires and Songs and Sonnets. In the year 1601 Donne marries Anne More. Between the years 1607-1612 Donne wrote Divine Poems, Ignatius his Conclave, and A Funerall Elegie. Donne wrote many more poems in his life time and was said to be one of the best Metaphysical poets of his period. Donne was obsessed with death that had a lot to do with the poems in that he had published closer to his death. Donne died in London on March 31, 1631.
by John Donne
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, we're met,
And cloister'd 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 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.
What I got from this poem is a flea bit the man and women that are not married. Their parents won't let them marry and the man sees this as their marriage bed with the mixing of thier blood. But I don't think the women wants to be with the man. So she kills the flea.
