ear published The Vision, a poem,
addressed to the earl of Halifax. He was concerned, with many others, in
the translation of Ovid's Metamorphoses, of which the following were
performed by him:

The Story of Nisus and Scylla, from the sixth Book.

The Labyrinth, and Daedalus and Icarus, from the eighth Book.

Part of the Fable of Cyparissus from the tenth Book.

Most part of the eleventh Book, and The Funeral of Memnon, from the
thirteenth Book.

He likewise performed an entire Translation of AEsop's Fables.

Subjoined to the Fair Circassian are several Poems addressed to Sylvia;
Naked Truth, from the second Book of Ovid's Fastorum; Heathen
Priestcraft, from the first Book of Ovid's Fastorum; A Midsummer's Wish;
and an Ode on Florinda, seen while she was Bathing. He is also author of
a curious work, in one Volume Octavo, entitled Scripture Politics: being
a view of the original constitution, and subsequent revolutions in the
government of that people, out of whom the Saviour of the World was to
arise: As it is contained in the Bible.

In consequence of his strong attachment to the Whig interest, he was
made archdeacon of Salop 1732, and chaplain in ordinary to his present
Majesty.

As late as the year 1750, Dr. Croxall published a poem called The Royal
Manual, in the preface to which he endeavours to shew, that it was
composed by Mr. Andrew Marvel, and found amongst his MSS. but the
proprietor declares, that it was written by Dr. Croxall himself. This
was the last of his performances, for he died the year following, in a
pretty advanced age. His abilities, as a poet, we cannot better display,
than by the specimen we are about to quote.

On FLORINDA, Seen while she was Bathing.

Twas summer, and the clear resplendent moon
Shedding far o'er the plains her full-orb'd light,
Among the lesser stars distinctly shone,
Despoiling of its gloom the scanty night,
When, walking forth, a lonely path I took
Nigh the fair border of a purling brook.

Sweet and refreshing was the midnight air,
Whose gentle motions hush'd the silent grove;
Silent, unless when prick'd with wakeful care
Philomel warbled out her tale of love:
While blooming flowers, which in the meadows grew,
O'er all the place their blended odours threw.

Just by, the limpid river's crystal wave,
Its eddies gilt with Phoebe's silver ray,
Still as it flow'd a glittering lustre gave
With glancing gleams that emul