Pol. Good madam, stay awhile. I will be faithful. [Reads the] letter. “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,
it's always inspired to have ophelia on stage, just for the sHEER embarrassment of this.
