Could not be still'd from all th'Armenian dragons.
O, my loves glory! heire to all I have
(That's all I can say, and that all I sweare)[100]
If thou out-live me, as I know thou must,
Or else hath Nature no proportion'd end
To her great labours; she hath breath'd a minde
Into thy entrails, of desert to swell
Into another great Augustus Cæsar;105
Organs and faculties fitted to her greatnesse;
And should that perish like a common spirit,