" 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-fixed mark

   That looks on tempests and is never shaken;

   It is the star to every wand'ring bark,

   Whose worth's unknown, although his height 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 prov'd,

   I never writ, nor no man ever lov'd. "