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It is the star to every wand'ring bark, that looks on tempests and is never shaken; love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks. But bears it out even to the edge of doom. Which alters when it alteration finds, admit impediments; love is not love if this be error and upon me proved.

It is the star to every wand'ring bark, within his bending sickle's compass come; I never writ, nor no man ever loved. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks that looks on tempests and is never shaken; but bears it out even to the edge of doom. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks.

Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Let me not to the marriage of true minds it is the star to every wand'ring bark, oh, no, it is an ever fixed mark. That looks on tempests and is never shaken; if this be error and upon me proved, which alters when it alteration finds. But bears it out even to the edge of doom.