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 and is never shaken;
It is the star to every wandering bark,
Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken.
(it's not the size of the boat, it's the motion in the ocean)
Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks
Within his bending sickle's compass come:
(here the antecedent of "his" is read as "Love," i.e., my penis, although the "though" makes this reading problematic)
Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,
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.