Sonnet 143
Lo, as a careful housewife runs to catchOne of her feathered creatures broke away,Sets down her babe and makes a 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 bentTo 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.