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

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return,

O, call not me to justify the wrong That thy unkindness lays upon my heart, Wound me not with thine eye but with thy tongue, Use power with power and slay me not by art. Tell me thou lovest elsewhere,

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

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

Where art thou, Muse, that thou forget'st so long To speak of that which gives thee all thy might? Spend'st thou thy fury on some worthless song, Darkening thy power to lend base subjects light? Return,

The little Love-god lying once asleep Laid by his side his heart-inflaming brand, Whilst many nymphs that vow'd chaste life to keep Came tripping by, but in her maiden hand The fairest votary took up that

What potions have I drunk of Siren tears, Distill'd from limbecks foul as hell within, Applying fears to hopes and hopes to fears, Still losing when I saw myself to win! What wretched errors hath my heart

How can my Muse want subject to invent, While thou dost breathe, that pour'st into my verse Thine own sweet argument, too excellent For every vulgar paper to rehearse? O, give thyself the thanks, if aught

Alack, what poverty my Muse brings forth, That having such a scope to show her pride, The argument all bare is of more worth Than when it hath my added praise beside! O, blame me not, if I no more can

When I have seen by Time's fell hand defaced The rich proud cost of outworn buried age, When sometime lofty towers I see down-razed And brass eternal slave to mortal rage, When I have seen the hungry ocean

Take all my loves, my love, yea, take them all, What hast thou then more than thou hadst before? No love, my love, that thou mayst true love call, All mine was thine before thou hadst this more. Then if

Weary with toil, I haste me to my bed, The dear repose for limbs with travel tired, But then begins a journey in my head, To work my mind, when body's work's expired: For then my thoughts, from far where

O, that you were yourself! but, love, you are No longer yours than you yourself here live: Against this coming end you should prepare, And your sweet semblance to some other give. So should that beauty