Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken. Which alters when it alteration finds, it is the star to every wand'ring bark, love alters not with his brief hours and weeks. Love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Within his bending sickle's compass come; let me not to the marriage of true minds if this be error and upon me proved. Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, but bears it out even to the edge of doom. Or bends with the remover to remove.
