To Motorists

Since ye distemper and defile Sweet Herè by the measured mile, Nor aught on jocund highways heed Except the evidence of speed; And bear about your dreadful task Faces beshrouded ’neath a mask; Great goblin eyes and gluey hands And souls enslaved to gears and bands; Here shall no graver curse be said Than, though y’are quick, that ye are dead!