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 proved,                
 	   I never writ, nor no man ever loved.