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When lovely woman stoops to folly,
And finds too late that men betray,
What charm can soothe her melancholy,
What art can wash her guilt away?

The only art her guilt to cover,
To hide her shame from every eye,
To give repentance to her lover,
And wring his bosom, is—to die.

Added: 6 Oct 2002 | Last Read: 12 Sep 2026 3:46 AM | Viewed: 11395 times

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