MISCELLANY POEMS.  
WRITTEN By R. W. C. C. Cambr.  
Non semper feriet quodcunque minabitur Arcus.  Hor. de Arte Poetica. 
LONDON, Printed for W. Rogers, at the Sun against St Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet. 1700.   

TO The Much Honoured And Most Religious LADY, THE LADY RUSSEL OF St EDMVND's BURY IN SUFFOLK, THESE EARLY POEMS Are most Humbly Dedicated BY Her Ladyship's Most Dutiful, and Most Obedient Servant, R. Warren.   

RELIGION: A PINDARIC ODE.  

DESCEND Celestial Polyhim  
From that Blessed Residence, where you  
With Cherubin and Seraphim  
Th' Almighty's Presence View.  
Where, with Immortal Lays  
Ye Echo forth his Praise,  
And unfatigued chant through along infinity of Days.  
Descend, and now inspire my Thought,  
Let me be Taught,  
Like Israel's sweet tongued King of Old,  
In mighty Numbers, mighty Things t' unfold.  
Mighty Things my Theme I've chose,  
What the vile Creature to his GREAT CREATOR owes.   

II.  
Audacious Mortal, durst Thou then deny  
Th' Almighty's Sovereignty?  
Thinkest thou His Being but an Empty Name,  
Sprung from Imposture, nursed by Fame?  
Is He not Being, who thy Being gave?  
Has He no Power, who still doth save?  
Or wast thou then the cause that now Thou art?  
Didst thou thyself unto thyself impart?  

Unheard of Nonsense! Then by this we know,  
There's One Almighty Cause of all below,  
To whom at least, We must our Being own:   
Hence than our Gratitude and Praise, in Justice he may Claim.  
(And the Ungrate's an Odious Name  
We all are wont to blame)  
For sure 'tis better far to be,  
Than lost, for ever lost in Nature's dread Abyss, Nonentity.   

III.  
But still th' unthinking wretch Would find,  
(So hardly to what's good inclined)  
Some fond excuses to delude his Mind.  
Or terms th' Almighty Partial in His great Decrees,  
By Fating some to Bliss, some to Eternal Miseries;  
Or thinks when first he came  
A Finished Piece from the Aetherial frame,  
He straight from Heaven's o'er ruling care was hurled  
Upon the stormy Ocean of the World,  
Where Chance alone destroys or saves,  
Whilst He a Wretched Wight as blindly steers through Fortune's Waves.   

iv  
But ah! can this be thought to be  
Th' Effect of a Propitious Deity?  
Such Him we sure may justy call,  
Who freely gave Existence unto all.  
For Blessings, (as 'tis owned That was)  
Flow only from a kind well meaning Cause.  

Then sure 'twill the same kindness still retain,  
Still it's Dear Offspring with Paternal care maintain,  
And Nature never, never works in vain.   
Hence let us then reflect, and self condemned at last declare,  
What Duty from a Son the Parent may expect  
(If things so small with great we may compare)  
Obedience, Honour, Fear,  
Affection, Humble Resignation to His whole Desire;  
And all that tender Nature can inspire:  
'Tis this we own, but in a vastly more enlarged Degree  
Our Filial Duty to the Bounteous, Kind, Protecting Deity.   

V  
But oh! would Man consult his Breast  
Th' Eternal Register of Good and Ill,  
Those standing Laws there by th' Almighty's Hand impressed,  
His Stubborn will  
With Horror must start from its Impious course at last.  
'Tis here stern Conscience spite of all his cares,  
Unheard of Punishment prepares.  
Not all the Torments that of Old,  
Are of Relenting Tyrants told,  
Or Poets fancies could create  
Are half so great.  
Those Flaming Whips Allecto bore,  
The Vulture reeking in Prometheu's gore.  
His Bosom the Eternal Food,  
Nor Sisyphu's oppressing Load.  
Conscience alone inflicts them all,  
And Thousand, Thousand more on the offending Criminal.   

VI  
And now (methinks) I'm ravished in a Scene  
Of Bliss the Pious keep within.  
What Joys? what calm? what sweet repose  
The Virtuous Soul overflows?  
Here then Celestial Charmer did I cry,  
A stronger Flight of thoughts supply.  
Enlarge my Soul, of that blessed State  
More fully to Participate.  
My Eager Soul the Cherub checked,  
She told me that no greater Bliss below  
A Mortal here could know:  
She told me, here 'twas all in vain t'expect  
A View of that Bright Fountain whence it came,  
I might but taste the Flowing stream.  
Thus spoke the Saint, and then Her Aid withdrew;  
My Soul straight Flagged, my Lyre grew silent too:  
She winged away, and all, me-thought, around  
Did loud sweet Harmony from the Aetherial Arch resound.    

STUDY and EXERCISE: An Anacreontick ODE.  
TELL me Gentle Muses how  
I still may best my time bestow;  
And yet I think 've done't before:  
'Tis so my days to number o'er,  
As every Minute there may be  
A Compound of their Harmony.  
'Twas sometime to Repair to you,  
And pay the Visit there that's due.  
Sometime to Unbend my Mind,  
And moderate Recreation find;  
Sometime to the Shades retire,  
Charming my sorrows with a Lyre,  
Where, as the Various Notes I hear,  
Some grave, some shrill, to strike mine Ear,  
Thus mixed, compose an Harmony;  
In all my Actions so should I;  
To follow Business when it calls  
And pleasure in the Intervals.  
'Twas in a word to use them both,  
So that I ne'er might either loath.   

Upon IDLENESS.  

AWake my Soul, shake off this drowsy fit,  
Which though perhaps with ease,  
May in soft Circles round Thy Temples sit,  
'Tis yet a cursed Disease.  
Let not deluding Siren's Tongues,  
With soothing Words and softening Songs  
Lull Thee into a careless sleep,  
And in Gilt chains Thy Active spirits keep;  
But let them rove till they have broke the Chain,  
And you can your Lost Liberty regain:  
For Sleep and Death in all things so Agree,  
That Soul that's lost in Sleep doth cease to be.   

II.  
View how in Heaven's high Canopy above  
The Golden Sun doth stray,  
And whilst it in a Constant Line does move,  
It measures out the Day.  
Motion's that God, which by fixed Laws,  
Such curious Forms in matter draws,  
Matter itself an heavy Mass  
Rude and inactive of one Common Face,  
And owes those Various shapes in which it's dressed  
To motion's Seal on its gross Lump impressed;  
Ah! can you then in Sloth contented Live,  
useless, Supine, and Buried whilst alive?   

III.  
No, no, my Soul, you must without delay  
Your Faculties employ  
In something worthy of your thoughts, which may  
Hereafter yield you Joy.  
Which may with Virtues pleasing Art  
Your Active self from sin avert.  
When if with Luxury and Ease  
You yield your sinful craving lusts to please,  
And to unruly Passions once give way,  
They'll quickly Led your restless thoughts astray:  
Like a well Manured Garden left unsown,  
Which with Rank weeds will soon be over grown.    

TRAVEL. A Pindaric ODE.  

COME Mighty Muse inspire my Song,  
A Rapid Tide of Thought prepare,  
In Dithyrambic Numbers let it roll along;  
Yet all will be too weak I Fear.  
Come then your Utmost Forces join  
To carry on my great design.  
I mean to sail the World around,  
And see great Natures Utmost bound;  
I'll Pass where Roaring Seas, I'll hear,  
Where Phoebus Cools his Burning Car.  
Then on my first intended Road  
With sprightly Vigour on I'll hast  
To View the Gilded Arches of the East,  
Where rises first the Fiery God  
From his Ambrosian Feast.  
Nor shall the Ocean stop my Grand Parole,  
I'll cross the Globe from Pole to Pole.  
I'll cut the burning Line, and tread  
Where Natures Fettered in Her Icy Bed.  
For why dull Mortals, tell me why?  
Should Active Spirits Lie  
Like Oriental Gems still buried in obscurity?   

II.  
And whence ye subtle Vehicles of the Air?  
Ye Gentle Spirits that are nought but Soul?  
Is't we to duller matter you prefer?  
But for your speedy Travel through the whole,  
So swift that in a moment you appear  
Both here and every where.  
Whence is it that we all adore  
The Glorious Planet of the day?  
But that Heaven's Immense Posts He measures o'er  
Dispersing every where his Rays?  
Like an attempting Giant on  
Some Noble Expedition.  
Still with Unwearied Force  
Gins and Ends His course.  
Thus, thus should every Active Spirit do  
As far as Mortal Nature will allow.  
And sure we have a Sphere as Glorious to Travel here below.   

III.  
What wondrous pleasure must it needs impart  
To view the Effects of Nature and of Art?  
In every place with various shapes  
To see how this the other apes.  

But most of all Great Nature's work surprise,  
Hence we behold vast mountains to arise  
And with their Airy Tops to pierce the Skies.   
(Nor does my Muse  
Now Metaphors and Fancies use.)  
This Taeneriff where Pico stands can show  
Up whose vast rocky steep we Labouring go,  
And leave mortality and things below,  
Mounted above the clouds a pleasing Scene  
Bright and Serene,  
Environs all around, and here  
We breathe like Gods, in pure Aetherial Air.  
On some you'll find vast heaps of Snow,  
From some a Flaming Deluge flow.  
Lo! Atlas' vast stupendious Bulky frame,  
It's stately Head, how lofty Towers;  
We may believe it hither came,  
Another Globe dropped down on ours.  
Contrary manners and their Laws  
(For wondrously the Soul delights  
To see such Opposites)  
By which Each State its People awes.  
These and a Thousand more He knows, and only He  
Who gives himself the lose, and then enjoys an Universal Liberty.   

iv  
Tell me if we no Pleasure get  
In changing of one constant Seat,  
What made the grave Philosophers  
Thus Travel o'er the Heavenly Spheres,  
With so much eagerness to trace  
A Petty Star's Mysterious Maze.  
So nicely they direct the Scheme,  
That if thy could, I'm sure they'd run the same.  
But since their body that denies,  
Fancy the defect supplies.  
And with ambitious thoughts dogs every where,  
The little shining Traveller.  
Yes, there's a strange, strange sweetness in Variety,  
Which captivates the curious Soul, and draws it from its lurking hole  
To view the spacious World's surprising Imagery   

V.  
But now my Muse declare  
How we should still beware  
Of that too Fatal Siren Curiosity,  
The only Prison of our Joy.  
When we our Native seat forsake  
Only a Transitory View to take,  
And slightly gaze away a few lose years,  
Upon the Noble structure of the Universe.  
No 'tis not this I mean to do,  
In all my roving to and fro;  
But Weighing and considering all  
The Wonders of this Earthly Ball;  
I'll then my strong affections raise  
Unto th' Almighty Author's Praise.  
From manners which I've here been shown  
I'll draw a Model for my own.  
Thus fraught my Muse, come let's not longer room,  
But wisely now return, and Travel o'er ourselves at home.    

MARRIAGE.  
WHEN Man was first a Lonesom Creature made  
The sole Inhabitant of Eden's blissful shade,  
Th' Almighty saw Him, and resolved t' afford  
A Consort for the Melancholy Lord;  
Here first from Heaven the Nuptial Tie began,  
And Woman made a kind meet help for man.  

With Pleasure's winged their minutes gaily flew,  
None in so short a time such Transports known,  
Nor ever will, as did that Happy Two.   
But soon Alas! The Fatal Tempter came,  
With Flattering hopes deceives the yielding Dame:  
Shows her the charms of the Forbidden Tree,  
What Beauty 'twould bestow, what Heavenly Majesty!  
Straight she resolves the pleasing Fruit to taste,  
And on its sweets her longing Senses Feast.  
Then with her Art as well improved the Cheat,  
And gained her Husband with the specious Bait;  
Hence both offend against their Angry God,  
Whose Vengeance drove them from the blessed abode;  
All Joys now gone, a Piteous Life they lead,  
In painful toil and sorrow seek their Bread.  
Thus through succeeding years an Equal Fate  
We often find attend the Marriage State.  
'Tis pleasing, the Fond Sense is all their care,  
'Tis this first joins, then slightly holds the heedless pair.  
The Female still the Tempter's Art employs,  
And fond strives t' enhance the fancied joys,  
With Gaudy Plumes, and Beauteous charms assails,  
And o'er th' unwary Mortal's heart prevails.  
So both deluded by the Fatal snare,  
Not Heavens Blessings, but its Curses share;  

Ah! then let the first Parent an Example stand  
That Virtues charms our Beauty should command;  
Those prove the strongest Cement to the Nuptial Band.    

HOSPITALITY. An Anacreontique ODE.  
COME since I must a Treat procure  
To Feast my Little Epicure;  
I'll tell thee, Pretty Guest, my Muse,  
What sort of Diet I would Use,  

I know you don't expect to Eat  
A Multiplicity of Meat,  
The vain profuseness of the Great.   
I'm sure you'd be displeased to see  
A rich and costly Tapestry,  
Adorn my Room; And here a fry  
Of interrupting waiters by.  
No, no, not I, I'll none of these  
They often cloy, but never please.  
Nor need my gentle Stranger Fear  
The starving on a Misers Far;  
I hate th' Excesses of them both,  
The one I shun, The one I Loath:  

A Tippling Glass or two shall be  
To make us merry company,  
And all beyond's but Luxury.   
Come now my friends, 'tis thus I Treat  
We'll Eat to live, whilst others live to Eat.   

CONVERSATION.  
'tIS this Resounds through all the Universe,  
'Tis Nature's General charge that all converse;  
Hence 'tis in Summer time we hear  
The little charming Songsters of the Air  
In strains to greet each other; all around  
The Pretty warbling Choir by turns resound.  
The Verdant Trees hence know each other's Mind,  
And Model in like Notes the fanning Winds.  
Each stream returns the Murmurs of its Neighbouring Rill  
And dancing Echo bounds from Hill to Hill,  
This, This their Plastic conversation is,  
And Noble Man, to Noble Man has his:  
As Sympathetick Instinct mixes there,  
So Divine Reason is the Compound here.   

RETIREMENT, Sitting in an ARBOUR.  


LET Mortals proudly swell, and striving to look great  
Peach on the Pinnacles of State,  
But fairer marks for Envies Hate.   

The Crazy World's vast Hight I fly,  
And in an Humble corner Lye,  
There, There enjoy a blessed Obscurity.    

II.  
The Pleasures which at Court appear,  
Are all but like the Fancied food,  
They say th' Accursed Fiends prepare  
For those fond Wretches they delude,  
Afford no real taste, 'tis all but empty Air:  
To the considering mind they're too well known,  
With me the Gilded Pill will ne'er go down.   

III.  
I seek no Powerful but a safe Retreat,  
I'd not be basely poor nor nobly great.  
He only Happy lives  
Contented with what sparing fortune gives.  
Let safety all my Life attend,  
And Blessed Tranquillity my end.   

iv  
This granted, now methinks I see  
Myself the Happy Soul I wish to be.  
Oh! how I'm blest with Safety, Health, and Peace?  
How ravished to behold Serenely these?  
Free from all Boisterous care and noisy strife,  
Stream through the flowery Vale, and soft Recess of Life.    

An ODE to my Honoured FATHER, On his Birthday; being the Glorious EPIPHANY.  

ONCE more my Muse inspire my Thoughts,  
Your Pious wishes all prepare;  
With Charming Numbers, Tuneful Notes  
Implore His Sacred Genius care.  
Thank the blessed Guardian for what's past,  
And beg His Happy days may last.   

II.  
His Actions by kind Fate be crowned,  
And Plenty flowing still appear,  
Nor Envy carp, that thus He ' has found  
Success through each revolving Year.  
So no obstructing cares shall stay  
Life's gentle current in its Way.   

III.  
May Feeble Age be blest with Ease,  
And here when Life's soft Lambent Fire  
As Fading Nature's food decays  
Shall of its self alone expire;  
Then fed with Substance more Divine,  
A Glorious Luminary shine.   

iv  
All this th' Angelic Spirit pray  
For His Dear Sake, who lately took  
A miserable frame of Mortal clay,  
And all the joys of Heaven forsook,  
To ease distressed, poor Mortal Race:  
For all from thence breathes Love and Peace.   

V  
And now arose His Genial Star,  
A Bright Directing Pharus stood,  
To light the Nations from afar  
Through Error's Night, and Vice dire-Flood,  
Where Truth marks out the Radiant way  
To Bliss, and the Bright Realms of Day.   

VI  
Like that, Kind Guardian, then dispense  
Unto thy Lovely Pupil Soul  
Such bright enlivening Influence,  
Which all its faculties may Rule.  
May from His Pen Angelic Precepts flow,  
To guide bewildered Mortals in their course below!    

Upon our Daily Preparation for DEATH. A Pindaric ODE.  
— Quisquam ne secundis 
 Tradere se fatis audet nisi morte parata?  Lucan. 


SAY heaven-born Spirit, say  
Dear partner in this Tenement of clay,  
Wither thou goest, when hence thou 'rt winged away.   
For sure thou'rt doomed by an unalterable fate  
To some Immortal State  
Of Woe or Bliss;  
As thou hast been employed in this.   

II.  

Ah! ne'er let that Great Task be then laid by,  
(Whilst Living to prepare to die,)  
And after to be fitted for Eternity.   
Eternity! How vast a Sum  
That swallows up the Present, and confounds the time to come?  
Eternity! How Nature's frame  
Shakes at the dreadful Name?  
Come then Assist me Virtues mighty force,  
Assist me now  I  
The shoarless Ocean Try;  
And to an unknown somewhere must direct my course.   

III.  
Pure Innocence my Safety shall maintain,  
And Equal Justice guide the Reign.  
Firm Hope my Anchor, and a Mind  
With Holy Thoughts refined  
Shall be the Bark; the Heavenly Gale  
Of Grace, I pray, may fill my Sail.  
Faith is my Compass; Charity  
My Stowage; and my Ballast Godly Fear;  
My Pilot Prudence, who still bears an Eye  
To CHRIST my Polestar; and while thus I steer,  
No doubt my Weatherbeaten Soul at last  
May on the Blissful Shore of Happiness be cast.   

iv  

And now (methinks) I hear  
The Solemn Trumpet strike mine Ear, 
JUDGEMENT.   
And a Dread Triumph doth appear.   
'Tis thine Dear Saviour who art come  
To call the Buried from their Tomb,  
To Summon those that Live t'appear,  
And meet Thee in the Air.  
Woe then to those sad Souls that want  
Th' unspotted Robes, that should adorn the Saint!   

V  
Assist us then Ye kinder Powers above;  
That all our thoughts towards you may move.  
May we like you in God delight,  
Have still whilst Here our Heaven in Sight!  

May all our faculties take care  
Souls pure and Holy to prepare,  
Meet Partners for you there!   

May all whilst living so grow wise  
(To avoid a fatal sad surprise)  
Still, still to keep the last dread Scene prefixed before their Eyes.     
Gloria Deo.  

ADVERTISEMENT.  


THE Table of CEBES the Theban Philosopher, or a True Emblem of Human Life.  
Done out of Greek into English. Printed at the University Press in Cambridge, for John Pindar Bookseller there.   

A Poem upon Christmas-day, Dedicated to the Right Reverend Father in God JOHN Lord Bishop of Norwich.    
Both by the same Author.