Then suddenly there comes a gush of feeling, and with most exquisite tenderness he adds,— “Come, thou new ruin of old Clifford’s house: As did Æneas old Anchises bear, So bear I thee upon my manly shoulders: But then Æneas bare a living load, Nothing so heavy as these woes of mine.” The same allusion, in _Julius Cæsar_ (act. i. sc. 2, l. 107, vol. vii. p. 326), is also made by Cassius, when he compares his own natural powers with those of Cæsar, and describes their stout contest in stemming “the troubled Tyber,”— “The torrent roar’d, and we did buffet it With lusty sinews, throwing it aside And stemming it with hearts of controversy; But ere he could arrive the point proposed, Cæsar cried, ‘Help me, Cassius, or I sink!’ I, as Æneas our great ancestor Did from the flames of Troy upon his shoulder The old Anchises bear, so from the waves of Tiber Did I the tired Cæsar: and this man Is now become a god, and Cassius is A wretched creature, and must bend his body If Cæsar carelessly but nod on him.” [Illustration: _Aneau, 1552._] Progne, or Procne, Medeia’s counterpart for cruelty, who placed the flesh of her own son Itys before his father Tereus, is represented in Aneau’s “PICTA POESIS,” ed. 1552, p. 73, with a Latin stanza of ten lines, and the motto, “IMPOTENTIS VINDICTÆ FOEMINA,”—_The Woman of furious Vengeance._ In the _Titus Andronicus_ (act. v. sc. 2, l. 192, vol. vi. p. 522) the fearful tale of Progne enters into the plot, and a similar revenge is repeated. The two sons of the empress, Chiron and Demetrius, who had committed atrocious crimes against Lavinia the daughter of Titus, are bound, and preparations are made to inflict such punishment as the world’s history had but once before heard of. Titus declares he will bid their empress mother, “like to the earth swallow her own increase.” “This is the feast that I have bid her to, And this the banquet she shall surfeit on; For worse than Philomel you used my daughter, And worse than Progne I will be revenged.” ’Tis a fearful scene, and the father calls,— “And now prepare your throats. Lavinia, come, [_He cuts their throats._ Receive the blood: and when that they are dead, Let me go grind their bones to powder small, And with this hateful liquor temper it; And in that paste let their vile heads be baked. Come, come, be every one officious To make this banquet; which I wish may prove More stern and bloody than the Centaurs’ feast.”