_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 sodainly flye out & either speake or exclaime at some other
person or thing, and therefore the Greekes call such figure (as we do) the
turnway or turnetale, & breedeth by such exchaunge a certaine recreation
to the hearers minds, as this vsed by a louer to his vnkind mistresse.
_And as for you (faire one) say now by proofe ye finde,
That rigour and ingratitude soone kill a gentle minde._
And as we in our triumphals, speaking long to the Queenes Maiestie, vpon
the sodaine we burst out in an exclamtion to _Phebus_, seeming to draw in
a new matter, thus.
_But O Phebus,
All glistering in thy gorgious gowne,
Wouldst thou wit safe to slide a downe:
And dwell with us,
But for a day,
I could tell thee close in thine eare,
A tale that thou hadst leuer heare
--I dare well say:
Then ere thou wert,
To kisse that unkind runneaway,
Who was transformed to boughs of bay:
For her curst hert.
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