Barbs from the Bard!

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Which alters when it alteration finds, it is the star to every wand'ring bark, or bends with the remover to remove. Let me not to the marriage of true minds that looks on tempests and is never shaken; within his bending sickle's compass come.

If this be error and upon me proved, love's not time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks it is the star to every wand'ring little bark.

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