When You See Me You Know Me (Henry the Eighth) · chunk 33 of 48
Rowley, Samuel · published 1605 · first performed or written 1604 (Annals) history · Prince Henry's Men unassigned nearest T3 Sickness, physic and doctors · 479 words
Marked words are the most distinguishing words of the nearest topic T3: doctor, master, cure, disease, pray, physic, physician, mr, sick, lady.
I thank ye Cranmer, and do believe ye What other proofs have been maintained to me Or shallbe, you shall know and aid me in them: Enough for this time, who's there? Doctor Tie Our musics Lecturer pray draw near: Indeed I take much In Music may your Grace ever delight, (delight in ye Though not in me, Music is fit for Kings, And not for those knows not the chime of strings. Truly I love it yet there are a sort Seeming more pure than wise, that will upbraid at it, Calling it idle, vain, and frivolous. Your Grace hath said, indeed they do upbraid That term it so, and those that do are such As in themselves no happy Concord's hold, All Music jars with them, but sounds of good. But would your Grace a while be patient, In Musics praise, thus will I better it. Music is heavenly, for in Heaven is Music, For there the Seraphins do sing continually, And when the best was borne, that ever was man, A Choir of Angels sang for joy of it, What of Celestial was revealed to man, Was much of Music, 'tis said the beasts did worship And sang before the Deity supernal, The kingly Prophet sang before the Ark, And with his Music charmed the heart of Saul, And if the Poet sail us not my Lord, The dulcet tongue of Music made the stones To move, irrational beast, and birds to dance And last, the trumpet's Music shall awake the dead, And cloth their naked bones in coats of flesh, T'appear in that high house of Parliament, When those that gnash their Teeth at Music sound, Shall make that place where Music near was found. Thou givest it perfect life, skilful Doctor I thank thee for the honoured praise thou givest it, I pray thee let's hear it too. 'tis ready for your Grace, give breath to your loud tuned instruments. 'tis well, methinks in this sound I prove a complete age, As Music, so is man governed by stops, Awed by dividing notes, sometimes aloft, Sometime below, and when he hath attained, His high and lofty pitch, breathed his sharpest and most Shrillest air, yet at length 'tis gone, And falls down flat to his conclusion, Another sweetness, and harmonious sound, A milder strain, another kind agreement, Yet 'mongst these many strings, be one untuned Or jarreth low, or higher than his course Not keeping steady mean amongst the rest, Corrupts them all, so doth bad men the best. Enough; let voices now delight his princely care. Doctor, I thank you and commend your cunning. I est have heard my Father merrily speak, In your high praise, and thus his Highness sayth, England, one God, one truth, one Doctor hath For musics Art, and that is Doctor tie, Admired for skill in Musics harmony.
seed 43: unassigned · seed 44: unassigned — topic numbers are assigned independently in each run; equal or different numbers say nothing by themselves
Original spelling (EEBO-TCP, unregularized)
I thanke ye Cranmar, and doe beleeue ye What other proofes haue been maintayn'd to me Or shalbe, you shall know and ayd me in them: Ynough for this time, who's there? Doctor Tye Our Musicks Lecturer pray draw nere: Indeed I take much In Musick may your Grace euer delight, (delight in ye Though not in me, Musicke is fit for Kings, And not for those knowes not the chime of stings. Truely I loue it yet there are a sort Seeming more pure than wise, that will vpbrayd at it, Calling it idle, vaine, and friuolous. Your Grace hath sayd, indeed they doe vpbrayd That terme it so, and those that doe are such As in themselues no happic concords hold, All Musicke jars with them, but sounds of good. But would your Grace a while be patient, In Musickes praise, thus will I better it. Musicke is heauenly, for in Heauen is Musicke, For there the Seraphins doe sing continually, And when the best was borne, that euer was man, A Quir of Angels sang for joy of it, What of Celestiall was reueald to man, Was much of Musicke, is sayd the beasts did worship And sang before the Deitie supernall, The kingly Prophet sang before the Arke, And with his Musicke charmd the heart of Saule, And if the Poet sayle vs not my Lord, The dulcet tongue of Muske made the stones To mooue, irrationall beast, and birds to daunce And last, the Trumpets Musicke shall awake the dead, And cloath their naked bones in coates of flesh, T'appeare in that high house of Parliament, When those that gnsh their Teeth at Musicke sound, Shall make that place where Musicke nere was found. Thou giuest it perfect life, skilfull Doctor I thanke thee for the honour'd praise thou giuest it, I pray thee lets heare it too. Tis readie for your Grace, giue breath to your loude tun'd instruments. Tis well, me thinkes in this sound I prooue a comepleat age, As Musicke, so is man gouern'd by stops, Aw'd by diuiding notes, sometimes aloft, Sometime below, and when he hath attain'd, His high and loftic pitch, breathed his sharpest and most Shrillest ayre, yet at length tis gone, And fals downe flat to his conclusion, Another sweetnesse, and harmonious sound, A mildel straine, another kinde agreement, Yet mong'st these many stringes, be one vntun'd Or jarreth low, or hyer than his course Not keeping steddie meane among'st the rest, Corrupts them all, so doth bad men the best. Inough; let voyces now delight his princely care. Doctor, I thanke you and commend your cunning. I est haue heard my Father merrily speake, In your hye praise, and thus his Highnesse sayth, England, one God, one truth, one Doctor hath For Musicks Art, and that is Doctor Tye, Admir'rd for skill in Musickes harmonie.