Would then a mother feign her offspring's death,
And fear no baleful omens of that word?
They omens fear who have no greater dread.610
Her truth hath she upheld by straightest oath.
If that she perjured be, what greater fear
Doth vex her soul? Now have I urgent need
Of all my skill and cunning, all my arts,
By which so oft Ulysses hath prevailed;
For truth, though long concealed, can never die.
Now watch the mother; note her grief, her tears,615