"Do not, as some ungracious pastors do,
Show me the steep and thorny way to heaven,
Whiles, like a puffed and reckless libertine,
Himself the primrose path of dalliance treads
And recks not his own rede."
Hamlet (1.3.51)
To the celestial, and my soul's idol, the most beautified Ophelia---
Doubt thou the stars are fire,
Doubt that 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.