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 templates and is never shaken .

It is the star to every  wandering bark.

Whose worth's unknown although his hight be taken.

Love's not time's fool, though  rosy lip's and cheeks

within his bending sickle's compass come;

Love alters not with his brief hours and week's

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.

William Shakespear