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“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. Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, Hamlet.” — William Shakespeare
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.
Thine evermore, most dear lady, whilst this machine is to him, Hamlet.