In his third, titled, [Greek:  KOINA PHIAON], where he reprehends Plato’s notion of a political community of all things, are the following lines: 

  Plato is dead, and dead is his device,
  Which some thought witty, none thought ever wise: 
  Yet certes Macha is a Platonist
  To all, they say, save whoso do not list;
  Because her husband, a far traffick’ man,
  Is a profess’d Peripatician.

His last book and satire, for it consists but of one, is a humorous ironical recantation of his former satires; as the author pretends there can be no just one in such perfect times as his own.  The latter part of it alludes to different passages in Juvenal; and he particularly reflects on some poetaster he calls Labeo, whom he had repeatedly lash’d before; and who was not improbably some cotemporary scribler.

Upon the whole, these satires sufficiently evince both the learning and ingenuity of their author.  The sense has generally such a sufficient pause, and will admit of such a punctuation at the close of the second line, and the verse is very often as harmonious too, as if it was calculated for a modern ear:  tho’ the great number of obsolete words retained would incline us to think the editors had not procured any very extraordinary alteration of the original edition, which we have never seen.  The present one is nearly printed; and, if it should occasion another, we cannot think but a short glossary at the end of it, or explanations at the bottom of the pages, where the most uncouth and antiquated terms occur, would justly increase the value of it, by adding considerably to the perspicuity of this writer; who, in other respects, seems to have been a learned divine, a conscientious christian, a lover of peace, and well endued with patience; for the exercise of which virtue, the confusions at the latter end of his life, about the time of the death of Charles I. furnished him with frequent opportunities, the account of his own hard measures being dated in May 1647.  We have met with no other poetical writings of the bishop’s, except three anthems, composed for the use of his cathedral-church; and indeed, it seems as if his continual occupation after his youth, and his troubles in age, were sufficient to suppress any future propensity to satirical poetry:  which we may infer from the conclusion of the first satire of his fourth book.

  While now my rhimes relish of the ferule still,
  Some nose-wise pedant saith; whose deep-seen skill
  Hath three times construed either Flaccus o’er,
  And thrice rehears’d them in his trivial flore. 
  So let them tax me for my hot blood’s rage,
  Rather than say I doated in my age.

[Footnote 1:  Specialities of this bishop’s life prefixed to his works.]

[Footnote 2:  Slight.]

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RICHARD CRASHAW.