LVIII.

I hate a motive, like a lingering bottle Which with the landlord makes too long a stand, Leaving all-claretless the unmoistened throttle, Especially with politics on hand; I hate it, as I hate a drove of cattle, Who whirl the dust as Simooms whirl the sand; I hate it as I hate an argument, A Laureate's Ode, or servile Peer's "Content."