The same observation applies equally to the same author's _Iocosa Lyra_:
IOCOSA LYRA
I_n our hearts is the great one of Avon_
E_ngraven_,
A_nd we climb the cold summits once built on_
B_y Milton_;
B_ut at times not the air that is rarest_
I_s fairest_,
A_nd we long in the valley to follow_
A_pollo_.
T_hen we drop from the heights atmospheric_
T_o Herrick_,
O_r we pour the Greek honey, grown blander_,
O_f Landor_,
O_r our cosiest nook in the shade is_
W_here Praed is_,
O_r we toss the light bells of the mocker_
W_ith Locker_.
O_ the song where not one of the Graces_
T_ightlaces_,--
W_here we woo the sweet Muses not starchly_,
B_ut archly_,--
W_here the verse, like a piper a-Maying_
C_omes playing_,--
A_nd the rhyme is as gay as a dancer_
I_n answer_,--
I_t will last till men weary of pleasure_
I_n measure!_
I_t will last till men weary of laughter_ .
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