Within thy crystal depths I see
A figure semblable of me,
But no more me than I am one
With the brute rock I rest upon;
For how may brow or eye reveal
The infinites wherewith I deal?

Nay, I will break thee, mirror mine!
The unseen inward is divine,
The outward body but a bowl
That covers in the mounting soul.

If any one would truly know
What manner of man I come and go,
Not flesh alone, but blood and breath,
Lo, Lear, Lord Hamlet and Macbeth!

Poor mummer, I must shatter thee,
Since thou dost bear false tales of me!