Hamlet 1.3.78

This above all: to thine own self be true.

Alas, I confess that I am not true to myself but to you —

The stars reveal this, the mighty oak and the rose,

The flinty rocks I skipped across a brook.

I have walked my loneliness to the sea,

And the sea roared in both ears.

I swallowed and tasted sadness.

I lay in the grass and closed my eyes —

I saw only you, in a dress white as a cloud.

Admittedly, I’m not as tall as thee,

Neither smart as thee, nor rich as thee.

Yet, my dear lamb,

Let me be your admirer.

I am a stable boy,

You a rich farmer’s daughter.

Let me be like wheat in wind, bending just so,

Not the weak-stemmed daffodil, bent in rain,

Dipping its face in mud churned by a workman’s clogs.