Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch,

One of her feathered creatures broke away,

Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatch

In pursuit of the thing she would have stay:

Whilst her neglected child holds her in chase,

Cries to catch her whose busy care is bent,

To follow that which flies before her face:

Not prizing her poor infant's discontent;

So run'st thou after that which flies from thee,

Whilst I thy babe chase thee afar behind,

But if thou catch thy hope turn back to me:

And play the mother's part, kiss me, be kind.

So will I pray that thou mayst have thy Will,

If thou turn back and my loud crying still.