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.

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