Cover that bosom that I must not see: souls are wounded by such things.
Jean Baptiste Moliere (1622 - 1673)
Source: Tartuffe, 11664, act III, sc. ii
Contributed by: Zaady
Then worms shall try That long preserved virginity, And your quaint honor turn to dust, And into ashes all my lust. The grave's a fine and private place But none, I think, do there embrace.
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