Let me not to the marriage of true minds or bends with the remover to remove. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, if this be error and upon me proved. I never writ, nor no man ever loved.

Oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark but bears it out even to the edge of doom. That looks on tempests and is never shaken; love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, admit impediments; love is not love. It is the star to every wand'ring bark, whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.