Sonnet 84

Who is it that says most? which can say moreThan this rich praise, that you alone are you?In whose confine immured is the storeWhich should example where your equal grew.Lean penury within that pen doth dwellThat to his subject lends not some small glory;But he that writes of you, if he can tellThat you are you, so dignifies his story,Let him but copy what in you is writ,Not making worse what nature made so clear,And such a counterpart shall fame his wit,Making his style admired every where. You to your beauteous blessings add a curse, Being fond on praise, which makes your praises worse.
Base flatterer's words can't expressthe truth of you that I profess.Still, your need to be praisedleaves me feeling quite crazed—its curse causes constant distress.