My rash Corinna lies exhausted between life and death, trying to force the burden from her distended belly. I am rightly angry at her for secretly deciding to try the risk of pregnancy, but my anger gives way before my fear. Nevertheless she either conceived by me or at any rate I believe that she did: I regard the child as mine because it could be mine.
You, Isis, inhabit the rich fields of Canopus, and chalk-white Memphis, and the palm-covered Isle of Pharos; past you the swift Nile passes in a broad stream to be carried into the sea through seven mouths. May dutiful Osiris always cherish your ceremonies! May your serpent twine about fat offerings! May the horned bull Apis always travel in your train!
I pray by your sistrums and by the head of venerable Anubis: turn your face toward me and save two lives by saving one; you will give life to my mistress, and she will give life to me. Often she devotes herself to you on the days when your priests, the Galli, stain your altars with blood.
And you, gentle Ilithia, who pityingly tend girls in labor whose burdens do not slip from their bodies when they should, heed my prayers. My mistress is worthy of whatever sacrifice you may order me to make.
Wearing a bleached toga, I will throw frankincense on your altar fire! I will lay votive gifts at your feet, fixing to them the notice Naso, for the Preservation of Corinna. You however, must provide the occasion for the notice and the gift.
If the fact that I am so fearful gives me the right to direct you, please be sure that you fight this battle successfully.