Book XVI, 133: On the Same

Why, woman, dost thou lift up to Olympus thy shameless hand, and let thy divine hair fall loose from thy godless head Looking now on the heavy wrath of Leto, O mother of many children, bemoan thy bitter and froward strife. One of thy daughter’s is gasping beside thee, one lies lifeless, and heavy death is nigh descending on another. Yea, and this is not yet the end of thy woe, but the swarm of thy male children lies low likewise in death. O Niobe, weeping for the heavy day that gave thee birth, thou shalt be a lifeless rock consumed by sorrow.