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

Lady. ^note
Madam, we'll play at bowls.

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

Lady.
Madam, we'll dance.

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

Lady.
Madam, we'll tell tales.

Queen.
Of sorrow or of joy ^{note note}?

Lady.
Of either, madam.

Queen.
Of neither ^note, girl:
For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had ^note,
It adds more sorrow to my want of joy:
For what I have I need not to repeat;
And what ^note I want it boots not to complain.

Lady.
Madam, I'll sing.

Queen.
'Tis well that thou hast cause;
But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep.

Lady.
I could weep, madam, would it do you good.

Queen.
And I could sing, would weeping ^note do me good,
And never borrow any tear of thee. ^note Enter ^note a Gardener, and two Servants.
But stay ^note, here come ^note the gardeners ^{note note}:
Let's step into the shadow of these trees.
My wretchedness unto a row of pins ^note, ^note
They'll talk of state; for every one doth so

Against a change; woe is forerun with woe ^{note note}. [Queen ^note and Ladies retire.

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

Serv. ^note
Why should we in the compass of a pale
Keep law and form and due proportion,
Showing, as ^note in a model, our firm estate ^{note note},
When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,
Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers choked up,
Her fruit-trees all unpruned, her hedges ruin'd,
Her knots disorder'd ^note and her wholesome herbs
Swarming with caterpillars?

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

Serv.
What, are they dead?

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

Serv.
What, think you then ^note the king shall be deposed?

Gard.
Depress'd he is already, and deposed
'Tis doubt ^note he will be: letters came last night
To a dear friend of the good ^note Duke of York's ^{note note},
That tell black tidings.

Queen.
O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking! [Coming forward. ^note
Thou, old ^note Adam's likeness, set ^note to dress this garden ^note,
How dares thy harsh rude ^note tongue sound this ^note unpleasing news? ^note
What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee
To make a second fall of cursed man?
Why dost thou say King Richard is deposed?
Darest thou, thou little better thing than earth,
Divine his downfal? Say, where, when, and how,
Camest thou by this ^note ill tidings? speak, thou wretch.

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

Queen.
Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,
Doth not thy embassage belong to me,
And am I last that knows ^note it? O, thou think'st ^note
To serve me last, that I may longest keep
Thy ^note sorrow in my breast. Come, ladies, go,
To meet at London London's king in woe.
What, was I born to this, that my sad look
Should grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?

Gardener, for telling me these ^note news of woe,
Pray God ^note the plants thou graft'st may never grow. [Exeunt ^note Queen and Ladies.

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

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