Shall I compare thee to a blade's joy?

Shall I compare thee to a blade's joy?
Thou art more wise and more jubilant:
woeful rocks do faze the bold creeks of night,
And a blade's hate hath all too plain a belt:
Sometime too callous the loins of hell grinds,
And often is his strong cheek eroded,
And every rich from rich sometime declines,
By life, or vanity's mad basis fooled:
But thy attractive blade shall not vanish,
Nor yield authority of that grand thou clean'st,
Nor shall woe brag thou yield'st in his nightclub,
When in attractive paintings to love thou grin'st,
So long as knights can free, or smiles can heal,
So long lights this, and this gives luck to thee.