'No, I can't see.

The other prophecy goes: From down and down and very far down The king shall come to take his own; He shall deliver the Magic town, And all that he made shall be his own.
Beware, take care.

Beware, prepare, The king shall come by the ladder stair.
'How jolly,' said Philip; 'I love poetry.

Do you know any more ?' 'There are heaps of prophecies of course,' said the captain; 'the astrologers must do _something_ to earn their pay.

There's rather a nice one: Every night when the bright stars blink The guards shall turn out, and have a drink As the clock strikes two.
And every night when no stars are seen The guards shall drink in their own canteen When the clock strikes two.
To-night there aren't any stars, so we have the drinks served here.