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 S t Dunstan's Church in Fleetstreet. 1700.
TO The Much Honoured And Most Religious LADY, THE LADY RUSSEL OF S t EDMƲND's BƲRY IN SUFFOLK, THESE EARLY POEMS Are most Humbly Dedicated BY Her Ladyship's Most Dutiful, and Most Obedient Servant, R. Warren.
RELIGION: A PINDARIQUE ODE.
DESCEND
Celestial Polyhim
From that Blest Residence, where you
With Cherubim and Seraphim
Th'
Almighty's Presence View.
Where, with Immortal Lay's
Ye Eccho forth his Praise,
And unfatigu'd chant through along infinity of Days.
Descend, and now inspire my Thought,
Let me be Taught,
Like
Israel's sweet tongu'd King of Old,
In mighty Numbers, mighty Things t' unfold.
Mighty Things my Theme I've chose,
What the
vile Creature to his
GREAT CREATOƲR owes.
II.
Audacious Mortal, durst Thou then deny
Th'
Almighty's Soveraignty?
Think'st thou His Being but an Empty Name,
Sprung from Imposture, nurs'd by Fame?
Is
He no 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 thy self unto thy self impart?
Unheard of Nonsence! Then by this we know,
There's One
Almighty Cause of all below,
To whom at least, We must our Being owe:
Hence then 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 inclin'd)
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 Finish'd Piece from the Aetherial frame,
He streight from
Heaven's o're ruling care was hurl'd
Upon the stormy Ocean of the World,
Where
Chance alone destroys or saves,
Whilst He a Wretched Wight as blindly steers through Fortunes 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 own'd 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 condemn'd 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 owe, but in a vastly more enlarg'd 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 imprest,
His Stubborn will
With Horrour 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
Alecto 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 ravish'd in a Scene
Of Bliss the Pious keep within.
What Joys? what calm? what sweet repose
The Virtuous Soul o'reflows?
Here then Celestial Charmer did I cry,
A stronger Flight of thoughts supply.
Enlarge my Soul, of that blest State
More fully to Participate.
My Eager Soul the
Cherub check'd,
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 spake the Saint, and then Her Aid withdrew;
My Soul streight Flagg'd, my Lyre grew silent too:
She wing'd away, and all, me-thought, around
Did loud sweet Harmony from the
Aetherial Arch resound.
STƲDY and EXERCISE: An Anacreontick ODE.
TELL me
Gentle Muses how
I still may best my time bestow;
And yet I think you've don't before:
'Tis so my days to number o're,
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 mix'd, 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're might either loath.
Ʋpon IDLENESS.
AWake my Soul, shake off this drowsie fit,
Which though perhaps with ease,
May in soft Circles round Thy Temples sit,
'Tis yet a curs'd Disease.
Let not deluding
Syrens Tongues,
With soothing Words and softning 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 Cannopy 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 fix'd Laws,
Such curious Forms in matter draws,
Matter it self an heavy Mass
Rude and inactive of one Common Face,
And ow's those Various shapes in which it's drest
To motion's Seal on it's gross Lump imprest;
Ah! can you then in
Sloth contented Live,
Ʋseless, Supine, and
Buried whilst
alive?
III.
No, no, my Soul, you must without delay
Your Faculties imploy
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 Lead your restless thoughts astray:
Like a well Manur'd Garden left unsown,
Which with Rank weeds will soon be over grown.
TRAVEL. A Pindarique ODE.
COME Mighty Muse inspire my Song,
A Rapid Tide of Thought prepare,
In Dithyrambick Numbers let it roll along;
Yet all will be too weak I Fear.
Come then your Utmost Forces joyn
To carry on my great design.
I mean to sail the World around,
And see great Natures Utmost bound;
I'le Pass where Roaring Seas, I'le hear,
Where
Phaebus Cools his Burning Car.
Then on my first intended Road
With sprightly Vigour on I'le 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'le cross the Globe from
Pole to
Pole.
I'le cut the burning Line, and tread
Where Natures Fetter'd in Her Icy Bed.
For why dull Mortals, tell me why?
Should Active Spirits Lye
Like
Oriental Gems still buri'd in obscurity?
II.
And whence ye subtil Vehicles of the Air?
Ye Gentle Spirits that are nought but Soul?
Is't we to duller matter you preferr?
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're
Dispersing every where his Rays?
Like an attempting Gyant on
Some Noble Expedition.
Still with Unweari'd Force
Begins and Ends His course.
Thus, thus should ev'ry 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 surprize,
Hence we behold vast mountains to arise
And with their Aiery 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'l 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 dropt down on ours.
Contrary manners and their Laws
(For wondrously the Soul delights
To see such Opposites)
By which Each State it's People aws.
These and a Thousand more He knows, and only He
Who gives himself the loose, 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're the Heav'nly Spheres,
With so much eagerness to trace
A Petty Star's Mysterious Maze.
So nicely they direct the Scheme,
That if thy cou'd, 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 surprizing Imag'ry
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 loose years,
Upon the Noble structure of the
Ʋniverse.
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'le then my strong affections raise
Unto th'
Almighty Author's Praise.
From manners which I've here been shown
I'le draw a Model for my own.
Thus fraught my Muse, come let's no longer rome,
But wisely now return, and Travel o're our selves at home.
MARRIAGE.
WHEN Man was first a
Lonesom Creature made
The sole Inhabitant of
Eden's blissful shade,
Th'
Almighty saw Him, and resolv'd t' afford
A
Consort for the
Melancholly Lord;
Here first from Heaven the Nuptial Tie began,
And
Woman made a kind meet help for man.
With Pleasures wing'd their minutes gayly flew,
None in so short a time such Transports knew,
Nor ever will, as did that Happy Two.
But soon Alas! The Fatal Tempter came,
With Flatt'ring hopes deceives the yielding Dame:
Shews her the charms of the Forbidden Tree,
What Beauty 'twould bestow, what Heavenly Majesty!
Streight she resolves the pleasing Fruit to taste,
And on it's sweets her longing Senses Feast.
Then with her Art as well improv'd the Cheat,
And gain'd her Husband with the specious Bait;
Hence both offend against their
Angry God,
Whose
Vengeance drove them from the
blest abode;
All Joy's 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 joyns, then slightly holds the heedless pair.
The Female still the Tempter's Art employs,
And fondly strives t' enhaunce the fancy'd joys,
With Gaudy Plumes, and Beauteous charms assails,
And o're th' unwary Mortal's heart prevails.
So both deluded by the Fatal snare,
Not
Heavens Blessings, but it's 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'le 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'le none of these
They often cloy, but never please.
Nor need my gentle Stranger Fear
The starving on a
Misers Fare;
I hate th' Excesses of them both,
The one I shun, The one I Loath:
A Tipling 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 Eccho bounds from Hill to Hill,
This, This their
Plastick 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 Pinacles 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 blest Obscurity.
II.
The Pleasures which at
Court appear,
Are all but like the Fanci'd food,
They say th' Accursed Fiends prepare
For those fond Wretches they delude,
Afford no real tast, 'tis all but empty Air:
To the considering mind they're too well known,
With me the Gilded Pill will ne're go down.
III.
I seek no Pow'rful 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 Blest
Tranquility my end.
IV.
This granted, now methinks I see
My self the Happy Soul I wish to be.
Oh! how I'm blest with
Safety, Health, and
Peace?
How ravisht to behold Serenely these?
Free from all Boist'rous care and noisy strife,
Stream through the flow'ry Vale, and soft Recess of Life.
An ODE to my Honoured FATHER, On his Birth-Day; 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 blest Guardian for what's past,
And beg His Happy days may last.
II.
His Actions by kind Fate be crown'd,
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 it's 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 Heav'n forsook,
To ease distress'd, 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
Thrô 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 dispence
Unto thy Lovely Pupil Soul
Such bright inliv'ning Influence,
Which all its faculties may Rule.
May from His Pen Angelic Precepts flow,
To guide bewildred Mortals in their course below!
Upon our Daily Preparation for DEATH. A Pindarique ODE.
—Quisquam ne secundis
Tradere se fatis audet nisi morte parata?
Lucan.
SAY
Heav'n-born Spirit, say
Dear Part'ner in this
Tenement of clay,
Whither thou goest, when hence thou 'rt wing'd away.
For sure Thou'rt doom'd by an unalterable fate
To some Immortal State
Of
Woe or
Bliss;
As thou hast been employ'd in this.
II.
Ah! ne're let that Great Task be then laid by,
(Whilst Living to prepare to dy,)
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 Natures frame
Shakes at the dreadful Name?
Come then Assist me Virtues mighty force,
Assist me now e're 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 refin'd
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
Weather-beaten Soul at last
May on the Blissful Shore of
Happiness be cast.
IV.
And now (methinks) I hear
The Solemn Trumpet strike mine Ear,
JƲDGEMENT.
And a Dread Triumph doth appear.
'Tis thine
Dear Saviour who art come
To call the Buri'd from their Tomb,
To Summon those that Live t'appear,
And meet
Thee in the Air.
Wo 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 Heav'n 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 prefix'd before their Eyes.
Gloria Deo.
ADVERTISEMENT.
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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.
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A Poem upon Christmas-day, Dedicated to the Right Reverend Father in God JOHN Lord Bishop of Norwich.
Both by the same Author.