'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, }
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. }