ou fortune can beare the sway,
Where vertues force, can cause her to obay._

Heede must be taken that such rules or sentences be choisly
made and not often vsed least excesse breed lothsomnesse.

[Sidenote: _Sinathrismus_, or the Heaping figure.]
Arte and good pollicie moues vs many times to be earnest in our speach,
and then we lay on such load and so go to it by heapes as if we would
winne the game by multitude of words & speaches, not all of one but of
diuers matter and sence, for which cause the Latines called it _Congeries_
and we the _heaping figure_, as he that said
_To muse in minde how faire, how wise, how good,
How braue, how free, how curteous and how true,
My Lady is doth but inflame my blood._

Or thus.
_I deeme, I dreame, I do, I tast, I touch,
Nothing at all but smells of perfit blisse_.

And thus by maister _Edward Diar_, vehement swift & passionatly.
_But if my faith my hope, my loue my true intent,
My libertie, my seruice vowed, my time and all be spent,
In vaine, &c._

But if such earnest and hastie heaping vp of speaches be made by way of
recapitulation, which commonly is in the end of euery long tale and
Oration, because the speaker seemes to make a collection of all the former
materiall points, to binde them as it were in a bundle and lay them forth
to enforce the cause and renew the hearers memory, then ye may geue him
more properly the name of the [_collectour_] or recapitulatour, and
serueth to very great purpose as in an hympne written by vs to the Queenes
Maiestie entitled [_Mourua_] wherein speaking of the mutabilitie of
fortune in the case of all Princes generally, wee seemed to exempt her
Maiestie of all such casualtie, by reason she was by her destinie and many
diuine partes in her, ordained to a most long and constant prosperitie in
this world, concluding with this recapitualtion.
_But thou art free, but were thou not in deede,
But were thou not, come of immortall seede:
Neuer yborne, and thy minde made to blisse,
Heauens mettall that euerlasting is:
Were not thy wit, and that thy vertues shall,
Be deemd diuine thy fauour face and all:
And that thy loze, ne name may neuer dye,
Nor thy state turne, stayd by destinie:
Dread were least once thy noble hart may feele,
Some rufull turne, of her unsteady wheele._

[Sidenote: _Apostrophe_, or the turne tale.]
Many times when we haue runne a long race in our tale spoken to the
hearers, we do s