_Lady._ Madam, we'll tell tales.[1502] 10 _Queen._ Of sorrow or of joy?[1502][1503] _Lady._ Of either, madam. _Queen._ Of neither, girl:[1504] For if of joy, being altogether wanting, It doth remember me the more of sorrow; Or if of grief, being altogether had,[1505] 15 It adds more sorrow to my want of joy: For what I have I need not to repeat; And what I want it boots not to complain.[1506] _Lady._ Madam, I'll sing. _Queen._ 'Tis well that thou hast cause; But thou shouldst please me better, wouldst thou weep. 20 _Lady._ I could weep, madam, would it do you good. _Queen._ And I could sing, would weeping do me good,[1507][1508] And never borrow any tear of thee.[1507][1509] _Enter a_ Gardener, _and two_ Servants. But stay, here come the gardeners:[1510] Let's step into the shadow of these trees. 25 My wretchedness unto a row of pins,[1511] They'll talk of state; for every one doth so Against a change; woe is forerun with woe. [_Queen and Ladies retire._[1512] _Gard._ Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,[1513] Which, like unruly children, make their sire 30 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 fast growing sprays,[1514] That look too lofty in our commonwealth: 35 All must be even in our government. You thus employ'd, I will go root away The noisome weeds, which without profit suck[1515] The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers. _Serv._ Why should we in the compass of a pale[1516] 40 Keep law and form and due proportion, Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,[1517] 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, 45 Her knots disorder'd and her wholesome herbs[1518] Swarming with caterpillars? _Gard._ Hold thy peace: He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring[1518][1519] Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf: The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,[1520] 50 That seem'd in eating him to hold him up, Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke,[1521] I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green. _Serv._ What, are they dead?