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.
---
Oliver Goldsmith,
song from his novel The Vicar of Wakefield