WHEN lovely woman stoops to folly, <br />And finds too late that men betray, <br />What charm can soothe her melancholy, <br />What art can wash her guilt away? <br /> <br />The only art her guilt to cover, <br />To hide her shame from every eye, <br />To give repentance to her lover, <br />And wring his bosom, is -- to die.<br /><br />Oliver Goldsmith<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/song-from-the-vicar-of-wakefield/
