Geoffrey Hill's characteristic attitude towards things, a sort of disarming grumpiness, is less evident in this volume than in the previous few. The book is still somewhat daunting, and much of it is both obscure (e.g. the reader is invited to overhear Hill talking to himself about Burke) and rhythmically inert. But there are several good poems. My favorites are the poems about Wyatt, and the beautiful one about Ben Jonson's "Masques" (note: if you don't recognize these names, you probably shouldn't waste your time on this book) --
"I see Inigo Jones's great arches
in my mind's eye, his water-inky clouds,
the paraphernalia of a royal masque;
dung and detritus in the crazy streets,
the big coaches bellying in their skirts
pothole to pothole, and the men of fire,
the link-boys slouching and the rainy wind."
Another poem I like is "Coda," which begins like this --
"Shredded--my kite--in the myriad-snagged
crabapple crown, the cane cross-piece flailing;
a dark wind visible even deep in the hedge.
I knew then how much my eros
was emptiness, thorn-fixed on desolation,"
And then there's this memorable and much-quoted bit from the "title poem" ("A Precis, or Memorandum, of C.P.") --
"The watered gold that February drains
out of the overcast...
the snowdrop fettled on its hinge, waxwings
becoming sportif in the grimy air."
I could go on excerpting the good bits -- which are not entirely unrepresentative; if you're patient and reasonably interested in English history, this book is worth your time. If not, Hill has written books that are _primarily_ about other things, which you might prefer ("The Triumph of Love" about WW2, "Mercian Hymns" about the Anglo-Saxons, "The Mystery of the Charity of Charles Peguy" about Charles Peguy, etc.).
Also, Hill's early poems -- up through "Tenebrae" (1978) -- are significantly more inviting than his later ones. If you haven't read those, you should, especially "Mercian Hymns."