&blquo;Que.
&blquo;What sport shall we devise here in this garden,
&blquo;To drive away the heavy thought of care?

&blquo;1. L.
&blquo;Madam, we'll play at bowls.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;'Twill make me think the world is full of rubs,
&blquo;And that my fortune runs against the bias.

&blquo;1. L.
&blquo;Madam, we'll dance.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;My legs can keep no measure in delight,
&blquo;When my poor heart no measure keeps in grief:
&blquo;Therefore no dancing, girl; some other sport.

&blquo;1. L.
&blquo;Madam, we will tell tales.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;Of joy, or grief?

&blquo;1. L.
&blquo;Of either, madam.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;No, of neither, girl.
&blquo;For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
&blquo;It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
&blquo;Or if of grief, being altogether had,
&blquo;It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
&blquo;For what I have, I need not to repeat;
&blquo;And what I want, it boots not to complain.

&blquo;1. L.
&blquo;Madam, I'll sing.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;'Tis well that thou hast cause;
&blquo;But thou should'st please me better would'st thou weep.

&blquo;1. L.
&blquo;I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;And I could weep, would weeping do me good,
&blquo;And never borrow any tear of thee. &blquo;Enter the Gardener and two Servants.
&blquo;But stay, here come the gardeners of this place:—
&blquo;Let's step into the shadow of these trees:
&blquo;My wretchedness unto a row of pins,
&blquo;They'll talk of state: for every one doth so
&blquo;Against a change, Woe is fore-run with woe. &blquo;[Queen and Ladies retire.

&blquo;Gar.
&blquo;Go, bind thou up yon' dangling apricocks,
&blquo;Which, like unruly children, make their sire
&blquo;Stoop with oppression of their prodigal weight;
&blquo;Give some supportance to the bending twigs.
&blquo;Go thou, and, like an executioner,
&blquo;Cut off the heads of too-fast-growing sprays,
&blquo;That look too lofty in our common-wealth:
&blquo;All must be even in our government.—
&blquo;You thus employ'd, I will go root away
&blquo;The noisome weeds, that without profit suck
&blquo;The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

&blquo;1. S.
&blquo;Why should we, in the compass of a pale,
&blquo;Keep law, and form, and due proportion,
&blquo;Shewing as in a model our firm state?
&blquo;When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
&blquo;Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers choak'd up,
&blquo;Her fruit-trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd,
&blquo;Her knots disorder'd, and her wholesome herbs
&blquo;Swarming with caterpillars* ^note?

&blquo;Gar.
&blquo;Hold thy peace:
&blquo;He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring,
&blquo;Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf:
&blquo;The weeds that his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,
&blquo;That seem'd, in eating him to hold him up,
&blquo;Are pluck'd up, root and all, by Bolingbroke;
&blquo;I mean the earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

&blquo;1. S.
&blquo;What, are they dead?

&blquo;Gar.
&blquo;They are; and Bolingbroke
&blquo;Hath seiz'd the wasteful king. What pity is it,
&blquo;That he hath not so trim'd and dress'd his land,
&blquo;As we this garden! We, at time of year,
&blquo;Do wound the bark, the skin of our fruit-trees;
&blquo;Lest, being over-proud in sap and blood,
&blquo;With too much riches it confound itself:
&blquo;Had he done so to great and growing men,
&blquo;They might have liv'd to bear, and he to taste
&blquo;Their fruits of duty. All superfluous branches
&blquo;We lop away, that bearing boughs may live:
&blquo;Had he done so, himself had borne the crown,
&blquo;Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

&blquo;1. S.
&blquo;What, think you then, the king shall be depos'd?

&blquo;Gar.
&blquo;Depress'd he is already; and depos'd,
&blquo;'Tis doubt, he will be: Letters came last night
&blquo;To a dear friend of the good duke of York's,
&blquo;That tell black tidings.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!—

&blquo;Thou Adam's likeness, [starting from her concealment.] set to dress this garden,
&blquo;How dares thy tongue sound this unpleasing news?
&blquo;What Eve, what serpent hath suggested thee
&blquo;To make a second fall of cursed man?
&blquo;Why dost thou say, king Richard is depos'd?
&blquo;Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,
&blquo;Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how,
&blquo;Cam'st thou by these ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

&blquo;Gar.
&blquo;Pardon me, madam: little joy have I,
&blquo;To breathe this news; yet, what I say, is true.
&blquo;King Richard, he is in the mighty hold
&blquo;Of Bolingbroke; their fortunes both are weigh'd:
&blquo;In your lord's scale is nothing but himself,
&blquo;And some few vanities that make him light;
&blquo;But in the balance of great Bolingbroke,
&blquo;Besides himself, are all the English peers,
&blquo;And with that odds he weighs king Richard down.
&blquo;Post you to London, and you'll find it so;
&blquo;I speak no more than every one doth know.

&blquo;Que.
&blquo;Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
&blquo;Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
&blquo;And am I last that knows it? O, thou think'st.
&blquo;To serve me last, that I may longest keep
&blquo;Thy sorrow in my breast.—Come, ladies, go,
&blquo;To meet at London London's king in woe.—
&blquo;What, was I born to this! that my sad look
&blquo;Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke!—
&blquo;Gardener, for telling me this news of woe,
&blquo;I would, the plants thou graft'st, may never grow. &blquo;[Exeunt Queen and Ladies.

&blquo;Gar.
&blquo;Poor queen! so that thy state might be no worse,
&blquo;I would my skill were subject to thy curse.
&blquo;Here did she drop a tear; here in this place
&blquo;I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace:
&blquo;Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,
&blquo;In the remembrance of a weeping queen. [Exeunt.

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