Let me not to the marriage of true minds
Admit impediments. Love is not love
Which alters when it alteration finds,
Or bends with the remover to remove:
O, no! it is an ever-fix`ed mark,
That looks on tempests and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wand ring bark,
Whose worth s unknown, although his heighth be taken.
Love s not Time s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle s compass come;
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
But bears it out even to the edge of doom:
If this be error and upon me proved,
I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
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