Lucretius Carus the philosopher and poet inueighing sore against the abuses of the superstitious religion of the Gentils, and recompting the wicked fact of king Agamemnon in sacrificing his only daughter Iphigenia, being a yoong damsell of excellent bewtie, to th’intent to please the wrathfull gods, hinderers of his nauigation, after he had said all, closed it vp in this one verse, spoken in Epiphonema.
  Tantum relligio potuit suadere malorum.

In English thus: 
  Lo what an outrage, could cause to be done,
  The peevish scruple of blinde religion.

  [Sidenote:  Auxesis, or the Auancer]
It happens many times that to vrge and enforce the matter we speake of, we go still mounting by degrees and encreasing our speech with wordes or with sentences of more waight one then another, & is a figure of great both efficacie & ornament, as he that declaring the great calamitie of an infortunate prince, said thus: 
  He lost besides his children and his wife,
  His realme, ronowne, liege, libertie and life.

By which it appeareth that to any noble Prince the losse of his estate ought not to be so greeuous, as of his honour, nor any of them both like to the lacke of his libertie, but that life is the dearest detriment of any other.  We call this figure by the Greeke originall the Auancer or figure of encrease because every word that is spoken is one of more weight then another.  And as we lamented the crueltie of an inexorable and unfaithfull mistresse.
  If by the lawes of love it be a falt,
  The faithfull friend, in absence to forget: 
  But if it be (once do thy heart but halt,)
  A secret sinne:  what forfet is so great: 
  As by despute in view of every eye,
  The solemne vowes oft sworne with teares so salt,
  As holy Leagues fast seald with hand and hart: 
  For to repeale and breake so wilfully? 
  But now (alas) without all iust desart,
  My lot is for my troth and much goodwill,
  To reape disdaine, hatred and rude refuse,
  Or if ye would worke me some greater ill: 
  And of myne earned ioyes to feele no part,
  What els is this (o cruell) but to vse,
  Thy murdring knife to guiltlesse bloud to spill.

Where ye see how she is charged first with a fault, then with a secret
sinne, afterward with a foule forfet, last of all with a most cruel &
bloudy deede.  And thus againe in a certaine lovers complaint made to the
like effect.
  They say it is a ruth to see thy lover neede,
  But you can see me weepe, but you can see me bleede: 
  And neuer shrinke nor shame, ne shed no teare at all,
  You make my wounds your selfe, and fill them up with gall: 
  Yea you can see me sound, and faint for want of breath,
  And gaspe and grone for life, and struggle still with death,
  What can you now do more, sweare by your maydenhead,
  The for to flea me quicke, or strip me being dead.