|2420| _Kin._ If a cleare merrit stand vpon his praise, Reach him a Poets Crowne (the honour’d Bayes) But if he claime it, wanting right thereto, (As many bastard Sonnes of Poesie doe) Race downe his vsurpation to the ground. |2425| _True Poets are with Arte and Nature Crown’d._ But in what molde so ere this man bee cast; We make him thine Crispinus, wit and iudgement, Shine in thy numbers, and thy soule I know, Will not goe arm’d in passion gainst thy foe: |2430| Therefore be thou our selfe; whilst our selfe sit, But as spectator of this Sceane of wit. _Cri._ Thankes royall Lord, for these high honors done, To me vnworthie, my mindes brightest fires Shall all consume them selues, in purest flame, |2435| On the Alter of your deare eternall name. _Kin._ Not vnder vs, but next vs take thy Seate, »_Artes nourished by Kings make Kings more great_, Vse thy Authority. _Cris._ Demetrius. |2440| Call in that _selfe-creating Horace_, bring Him and his _shaddow_ foorth. _Dem._ Both shall appeare, »_No black-eyed star must sticke in vertues Spheare_. _Enter_ Sir Vaughan. |2445| _Sir Va._ Ounds did you see him, I pray let all his Masesties most excellent dogs, be set at liberties, and haue their freedoms to smell him out. _Dem._ Smell whom? _Sir Vaugh._ Whom? The _Composer_, the _Prince of Poets_, _Horace_, |2450| _Horace_, he’s departed: in Gods name and the Kinges I sarge you to ring it out from all our eares, for Horaces bodie is departed: Master hue and crie shall----God blesse King Williams, I crie you mercy and aske forgiuenes, for mine eyes did not finde in their hearts to looke vppon your Masestie. |2455| _Kin._ What news with thee Sir Vaughan? _Sir Vau._ Newes? God tis as vrse newes as I can desire to bring about mee: our vnhansome-fac’d Poet does play at bo-peepes with your Grace, and cryes all-hidde as boyes doe. _Officers._ Stand by, roome there, backe, roome for the Poet. |2460| _Sir Va._ He’s reprehended and taken, by Sesu I reioyce very neere as much as if I had discouer’d a New-found Land, or the North and East Indies. _Enter_ Tucca, _his boy after him with two pictures vnder his cloake, and a wreath of nettles_: Horace _and_ Bubo _pul’d in by th’ hornes bound |2465| both like Satyres_, Sir Adam _following, Mistris_ Miniuer _with him, wearing_ Tuccaes _chaine_. _Tuc._ So, tug, tug, pull the mad Bull in by’th hornes: So, baite one at that stake my place-mouth yelpers, and one at that stake Gurnets-head. |2470| _King._ What busie fellow’s this? _Tuc._ Saue thee, my most gracious King a Harts saue thee, all hats and caps are thine, and therefore I vaile: for but to thee great _Sultane Soliman_, I scorne to be thus put off or to deliuer vp this sconce I wud. |2475| _Kin._ Sir Vaughan, what’s this iolly Captaines name?