Yet many rivers clear
    Here glide in silver swathes,
  And what of all most dear,
    Buxton’s delicious baths,
  Strong ale and noble chear,
    T’ asswage breem winters scathes.

  In places far or near,
    Or famous, or obscure,
  Where wholsom is the air,
    Or where the most impure,
  All times, and every where,
    The muse is still in ure.  Drayton.

Of eight, which is the usual measure for short poems,

  And may at last my weary age
  Find out the peaceful hermitage,
  The hairy gown, and mossy cell,
  Where I may sit, and nightly spell
  Of ev’ry star the sky doth shew,
  And ev’ry herb that sips the dew.  Milton.

Of ten, which is the common measure of heroick and tragick poetry,

  Full in the midst of this created space,
  Betwixt heav’n, earth, and skies, there stands a place
  Confining on all three; with triple bound;
  Whence all things, though remote, are view’d around,
  And thither bring their undulating sound. 
  The palace of loud Fame, her seat of pow’r,
  Plac’d on the summit of a lofty tow’r;
  A thousand winding entries long and wide
  Receive of fresh reports a flowing tide. 
  A thousand crannies in the walls are made;
  Nor gate nor bars exclude the busy trade. 
  Tis built of brass, the better to diffuse
  The spreading sounds, and multiply the news;
  Where echoes in repeated echoes play: 
  A mart for ever full; and open night and day. 
  Nor silence is within, nor voice express,
  But a deaf noise of sounds that never cease;
  Confus’d and chiding, like the hollow roar
  Of tides, receding from th’ insulted shore;
  Or like the broken thunder heard from far,
  When Jove to distance drives the rolling war. 
  The courts are fill’d with a tumultuous din,
  Of crouds, or issuing forth, or ent’ring in: 
  A thorough-fare of news; where some devise
  Things never heard, some mingle truth with lies: 
  The troubled air with empty sounds they beat,
  Intent to hear, and eager to repeat.  Dryden.

In all these measures the accents are to be placed on even syllables; and every line considered by itself is more harmonious, as this rule is more strictly observed.  The variations necessary to pleasure belong to the art of poetry, not the rules of grammar.

Our trochaick measures are Of three syllables,

  Here we may
  Think and pray,
  Before death
  Stops our breath: 
  Other joys
  Are but toys.  Walton’s Angler.

Of five,

  In the days of old,
  Stories plainly told,
  Lovers felt annoy.  Old Ballad.

Of seven,

  Fairest piece of well form’d earth,
  Urge not thus your haughty birth.  Waller.

In these measures the accent is to be placed on the odd syllables.