Miscellany poems by Tho. Heyrick ...

On a Flea presented to a Lady, whose Breast it had bitten, in a Golden Wire, Extem∣pore 1679. (by Mr. Joshua Barnes.)

—HEre, Madam, take this Humble Slave, Once vile,— But, since your blood is in him, Brave! I saw him surfet on your Lovely Breast; And snatch'd the Traytor from that precious Feast. For his Attempt sure He by me had dy'd; But the respect, I bore your Blood deny'd. The Gods forbid, fair Madam, that by me Your Blood be shed althô in this poor Flea!— 'Twas Sacrilege in him those Drops to draw; But now that Treasure in his skin doth ly, It consecrates his Life and strikes an awe; That no bold Nayl dare make the Traytor dy. Nay if a Quaff of Nectar once could make Mankind Immortal, as the Poets feign, This Flea can never dy for that Drops sake, Which he hath suck'd, sweet Madam, from your Vein; At least—no human Power his life can spill, (Which lyes in your pure blood, that can't decay:) But You, whose Property's to save and kill, As you did lend that Blood, may take't away. Then lo! —this Royal Slave in chains of Gold, Here I submit most humbly to your doom: Either let Mercy him your Prisoner hold, Or let your Ivory Nayl prepare his Tomb!

Oh! could he speak, I'm sure the Wretch would crave A Prisoner's life, to be confin'd with You: Nay he could be content to meet his Grave; If by your Hand death might to him accrue. Go, happy Flea! for now to One you go, Gives Bliss, if She's your Friend, and Glory, if your Foe▪