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CXLIII.
Lo! as a careful housewife runs to catch
One of her
feather'd creatures broke away,
Sets down her babe
and makes an 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 runn'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.
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