Oliver Goldsmith(ea. 1730–1774)
When Lovely Woman Stoops to Folly
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 love,
And wring his bosom—is to die.