People can die of mere imagination.
I gave my whole heart up, for him to hold.
Who then may trust the dice, at Fortune's throw?
Whoso will pray, he must fast and be clean, And fat his soul, and make his body lean.
There's no workman, whatsoever he be, That may both work well and hastily.
Filth and old age, I'm sure you will agree, are powerful wardens upon chastity.
Murder will out, this my conclusion.
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