It pulled, and pulled but now, but nothing came:
At last it drew so hard, that the blood followed;
And that red milk I found upon its lips,
Which made me swoon with fear.
Cleom. Go in and rest thee,
And hush the child asleep.— [Exit Cleora.
Look down, ye gods!
Look, Hercules, thou author of my race,
And jog thy father, Jove, that he may look
On his neglected work of humankind!