Lo as a careful huswife runs to catch,One of her feathered creatures broke away,Sets down her babe and makes all swift dispatchIn 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.