Sets downe her babe and makes all swift dispatch
In pursuite of the thing she would have stay:
Whilst her neglected child holds her in chace,
Cries to catch her, whose busie care is bent,
To follow that which flies before her face;
Not prizing her poore infants discontent;
So runst thou after that which flies from thee,
Whilst I thy babe chase thee a farre behind,
But if thou catch thy hope turne backe to mee:
And play the mothers part, kisse me, be kind.
  So will I pray that thou maist have thy Will,
  If thou turne backe and my loud crying still.

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