Sonnet XLVI: If he be dead, in whome no

If he be dead, in whome no hart remaines,
Or livelesse be, in whome no lyse is found:
If he doe pyne that never comfort gaines,
And be distrest, that hath his deadlie wound.
Then must I dye whose heart els where is clad,
And livelesse passe the greedie wormes to feed:
Then must I pine, that never comfort had,
And be distrest, whose wound with teares doth bleed,
Which if I doe, why doe I not waxe cold?
Why rest I not lyke one that wants a hart?
Why moove I still, lyke him that lyfe doth hold?
And sense enjoy both of my joy and sinart.
Lyke Nyobe Queene, which made a stone, did weepe,
Licia, my heart dead and alive doth keepe.