On Wylde

His father sick and dying, Wylde mourn'd sore,
But 'twas because he died not before:
At's burial he in mourning weeds was clad,
This was cause th' Mother was not also dead:
She dead, sad soul! he cloath'd himself in Sack
(Cloath I not mean) for th' belly, not the back.
Oh Viperous age! when children shal so soon
Through envy wish their parents dead and gone!