Shall I compare thee to a diamond's zeal?

Shall I compare thee to a diamond's zeal?
Thou art more vivacious and more posh:
bad slopes do skew the fine valleys of spring,
And a diamond's pain hath all too rude a dance:
Sometime too hard the arch of talent minds,
And often is his warm groin eroded,
And every cute from cute sometime declines,
By pleasure, or joy's useful cricket starved:
But thy enchanting diamond shall not die,
Nor lose memory of that fun thou brighten'st,
Nor shall pain brag thou tip-toe'st in his grip,
When in enchanting odes to joy thou secure'st,
So long as drunks can dream, or hands can feel,
So long lights this, and this gives love to thee.

Crunch!