iamque tibi, ne vana putes haec fingere somnum, litoreis ingens inventa sub ilicibus sus triginta capitum fetus enixa iacebit, alba solo recubans, albi circum ubera nati.
Even now, lest you deem these words the idle feigning of sleep, you will find a huge sow lying under the oaks on the shore, just delivered of a litter of thirty young, a white mother reclining on the ground'white, too, the young about her teats.