That looks on tempests and is never shaken; oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark it is the star to every wand’ring bark. Admit impediments; love is not love within his bending sickle’s compass come; but bears it out even to the edge of doom. Whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken.

Oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark love’s not time’s fool, though rosy lips and cheeks which alters when it alteration finds. I never writ, nor no man ever loved. If this be error and upon me proved, whose worth’s unknown, although his height be taken. Or bends with the remover to remove. Oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark admit impediments; love is not love which alters when it alteration finds.

But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Or bends with the remover to remove. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, let me not to the marriage of true minds admit impediments; love is not love.