find me false to the promise of my bold essay: let but
fortune speed and not thwart us. But one boon I would
ask of you beyond all others: I have a mother of Priam’s 15
ancient house, whom not the land of Ilium, not the city
of king Acestes, could keep, poor soul, from going with me.
Her I am now leaving, ignorant of this peril, be it what it
may, with no word of greeting—Night and your right
hand are my witnesses—because I could not bear a parent’s 20
tears. But you, I pray, comfort her need and support
her lonely age. With this trust in you to bear along