The way of the boy is the way of the wind,
As light as the leaves is dainty maid-kind;
One to deceive,
And one to believe—
That is the way of it, year to year;
But I know you will learn it too late, my dear.
John Vance Cheney [1848-1922]
"WHEN LOVELY WOMAN STOOPS TO FOLLY"
From "The Vicar of Wakefield"
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 [1728-1774]