She hopes, while Telethusa fears the day, And strives to interpose some new delay, Now feigns a sickness, now is in a fright For this bad omen, or that boding sight. But having done whate’er she could devise, And emptied all her magazine of lies, The time approach’d, the next ensuing day The fatal secret must to light betray. Then Telethusa had recourse to prayer, She, and her daughter, with dishevell’d hair; Trembling with fear, great Isis they adored, Embraced her altar, and her aid implored.