Trust me no tortures which the poets feign Can match the fierce unutterable pain He feels, who night and day devoid of rest Carries his own accuser in his breast.
Whatever guilt is perpetrated by some evil prompting, is grievous to the author of the crime. This is the first punishment of guilt that no one who is guilty is acquitted at the judgment seat of his own conscience.
Conscience, the executioner, shaking her secret scourge.
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