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