'Tis true, some stagers of the wiser sort Made all these idle wonderments their sport: They said, their only danger was delay, And he, who heard what every fool could say, 500 Would never fix his thought, but trim his time away. The passage yet was good; the wind, 'tis true, Was somewhat high, but that was nothing new, No more than usual equinoxes blew. The sun, already from the Scales declined, Gave little hopes of better days behind, But change, from bad to worse, of weather and of wind. Nor need they fear the dampness of the sky Should flag their wings, and hinder them to fly 'Twas only water thrown on sails too dry. 510 But, least of all, philosophy presumes Of truth in dreams, from melancholy fumes: Perhaps the Martin, housed in holy ground, Might think of ghosts that walk their midnight round, Till grosser atoms, tumbling in the stream Of fancy, madly met, and clubb'd into a dream: As little weight his vain presages bear, Of ill effect to such alone who fear: Most prophecies are of a piece with these, Each Nostradamus can foretell with ease: 520 Not naming persons, and confounding times, One casual truth supports a thousand lying rhymes. The advice was true; but fear had seized the most, And all good counsel is on cowards lost. The question crudely put to shun delay, 'Twas carried by the major part to stay. His point thus gain'd, Sir Martin dated thence His power, and from a priest became a prince. He order'd all things with a busy care, And cells and refectories did prepare, 530 And large provisions laid of winter fare: But now and then let fall a word or two Of hope, that Heaven some miracle might show, And for their sakes the sun should backward go; Against the laws of nature upward climb, 535 And, mounted on the Ram, renew the prime: For which two proofs in sacred story lay, Of Ahaz' dial, and of Joshua's day. In expectation of such times as these, A chapel housed them, truly call'd of ease: 540 For Martin much devotion did not ask: They pray'd sometimes, and that was all their task.