On a Fleabite espied on her fair hand

Behold how like a lovely fragrant Rose
Midst a fair Lillie bed,
Or set in Pearl like a bright Rubie shows,
This little spot of red!
Art could not die a Crimson half so good
As this was made by th' tincture of her bloud.

The cunning Leech knew that the richest bloud
In azure veins did lie;
Choosing thy young soft tender flesh for food
Resolv'd thus to feed high:
Thus being Nectar-fill'd and swell'd with pride,
He thinks he's now to you by bloud alli'd.

O how I envy thee smal creature, and
Ev'n wish thy shape on me,
That so I might but kisse that sacred hand
That giveth life to thee!
That which I hardly now can cover'd kisse,
Then I might naked touch and tast my blisse.

And though for drawing so much guiltles bloud
Thou wel deserv'st to die,
With a gold chain about thy neck, I wu'd
Have thee kept daintilie
As Scaliger's was in a box; and shown
As Stella's gentle Fairie up and down.