To
the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia:
Doubt
thou the stars are fire;
Doubt
thou the sun doth move;
Doubt
truth to be a liar;
But
never doubt, I love.
O
dear Ophelia, I am ill at these numbers; I have not art to reckon
my
groans; but that I love thee best, O most best, believe it! Adieu.
-Thine,
evermore, most dear lady...
-(Whilst
this machine is to him), -Hamlet.
William Shakespeare