The Complete Works of William Shakespeare In Plain and Simple English (Translated) (48 page)

would add more sorrow to my lack of happiness;

I don't need to be reminded of what I have

and there's no point in complaining about what I lack.

LADY.

Madam, I'll sing.

Madam, I'll sing.

QUEEN.

'Tis well' that thou hast cause;

But thou shouldst please me better wouldst thou weep.

You're lucky you have reason to;

but you would please me better if you wept.

LADY.

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

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

QUEEN.

And I could sing, would weeping do me good,

And never borrow any tear of thee.

Enter a GARDENER and two SERVANTS

But stay, here come the gardeners.

Let's step into the shadow of these trees.

My wretchedness unto a row of pins,

They will talk of state, for every one doth so

Against a change: woe is forerun with woe.

And I could sing for joy, if weeping would do me any good,

and I would never have to ask you to weep for me.

But wait, here come the gardeners.

Let's step into the shadow of these trees.

I'll bet my wretchedness against a row of pins

that they will talk of the state of the country,

everyone does in changing times: sorrow leads to sorrow.

[QUEEN and LADIES retire]

GARDENER.

Go, bind thou up yon dangling apricocks,

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 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 without profit suck

The soil's fertility from wholesome flowers.

Go and tie up those dangling apricots,

like badly behaved children, they make their parent

bend with the strain of their terrible weight;

shore up the bending twigs.

Go, and like an executioner

cut off the heads of the flowers which are growing too fast,

that have grown too high in our kingdom:

everything in our government must be level.

While you're doing that, I will dig out

the dirty weeds which steal away

the fertility of the soil from the good flowers.

SERVANT.

Why should we, in the compass of a pale,

Keep law and form and due proportion,

Showing, as in a model, our firm estate,

When our sea-walled garden, the whole land,

Is full of weeds; her fairest flowers chok'd up,

Her fruit trees all unprun'd, her hedges ruin'd,

Her knots disordered, and her wholesome herbs

Swarming with caterpillars?

Why should we, within our fences,

keep to the law, and form and proper proportions,

showing our good management like a model,

when our sea walled garden, the whole country,

is full of weeds; her fairest flowers are overrun,

her fruit trees are unpruned, her hedges are ruined,

her flowerbeds in a mess, and her healthy herbs

are covered with caterpillars?

GARDENER.

Hold thy peace.

He that hath suffer'd this disorder'd spring

Hath now himself met with the fall of leaf;

The weeds which his broad-spreading leaves did shelter,

That seem'd in eating him to hold him up,

Are pluck'd up root and all by Bolingbroke-

I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy, Green.

Hold your tongue.

The one who allowed this disorder to grow

has now encountered his own autumn;

the weeds he sheltered under his broad spreading leaves

that looked as though they were holding up as they were eating away at him,

have been pulled up roots and all by Bolingbroke–

I mean the Earl of Wiltshire, Bushy and Green.

SERVANT.

What, are they dead?

What, are they dead?

GARDENER.

They are; and Bolingbroke

Hath seiz'd the wasteful King. O, what pity is it

That he had not so trimm'd and dress'd his land

As we this garden! We at time of year

Do wound 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 liv'd to bear, and he to taste

Their fruits of duty. Superfluous branches

We lop away, that bearing boughs may live;

Had he done so, himself had home the crown,

Which waste of idle hours hath quite thrown down.

They are; and Bolingbroke

has captured the wasteful king. Oh, what a pity it is

that he didn't manage his country

as we manage this garden! At the right time of year

we cut the bark, the skin of our fruit trees,

in case its blood and sap should grow too thick,

and it chokes itself with too much richness;

had he done so to great and upcoming men

they might have lived to produce the fruits of their service,

and he could have enjoyed them. We cut away

superfluous branches, so that the fruitful ones can live;

if he had done that, he would still have the crown,

which he has thrown away through his idleness.

SERVANT.

What, think you the King shall be deposed?

What, do you think the King will be overthrown?

GARDENER.

Depress'd he is already, and depos'd

'Tis doubt he will be. Letters came last night

To a dear friend of the good Duke of York's

That tell black tidings.

He's already been beaten, and doubtless

he will be overthrown. Letters came last night

to a dear friend of the good Duke of York's

that contained bad news.

QUEEN.

O, I am press'd to death through want of speaking!

[Coming forward]

Thou, old Adam's likeness, set to dress this garden,

How dares thy harsh rude tongue sound this unpleasing news?

What Eve, what serpent, hath suggested thee

To make a second fall of cursed man?

Why dost thou say King Richard is depos'd?

Dar'st thou, thou little better thing than earth,

Divine his downfall? Say, where, when, and how,

Cam'st thou by this ill tidings? Speak, thou wretch.

Oh, not saying anything is killing me!

You, you copy of old Adam, told to tend this garden,

how dare your harsh rude tongue speak this unpleasant news?

What Eve, what snake, has suggested to you

that you should make mankind fall again?

Why do you say King Richard has been overthrown?

Do you dare, you who is not much more than earth,

predict his downfall? Tell me where, when and how,

you heard this bad news. Speak, you wretch.

GARDENER.

Pardon me, madam; little joy have

To breathe this 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 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 find it so;

I speak no more than every one doth know.

Forgive me, madam; it gives me no pleasure

to speak this news; but what I say is true.

King Richard is a prisoner in the firm custody

of Bolingbroke. Their fortunes are balanced.

On your lord's side there is only himself,

and a few trifles which make him lighter;

on the side of great Bolingbroke,

apart from himself, are all the English peers,

and with them he completely outweighs King Richard.

Hurry to London, and you will find this is the case;

I'm just saying what everybody knows.

QUEEN.

Nimble mischance, that art so light of foot,

Doth not thy embassage belong to me,

And am I last that knows it? O, thou thinkest

To serve me last, that I may longest keep

Thy 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?

Gard'ner, for telling me these news of woe,

Pray God the plants thou graft'st may never grow!

Quick misfortune, that is so swift,

wasn't your mission to come to me,

and I'm the last one to know? Oh, you think

you can serve me last, so I will keep your sorrow

in my heart for longest. Come, ladies, we shall go

and meet London's King in his sorrow in London.

What, was this what I was born for, that my sorrow

would grace the triumph of great Bolingbroke?

Gardner, for telling me this sad news,

I pray to God that none of your plants ever grow!

Exeunt QUEEN and LADIES

GARDENER.

Poor Queen, so that thy state might be no worse,

I would my skill were subject to thy curse.

Here did she fall a tear; here in this place

I'll set a bank of rue, sour herb of grace.

Rue, even for ruth, here shortly shall be seen,

In the remembrance of a weeping queen.

Poor Queen, if it meant your position would get no worse,

I would wish for your curse to come true.

She let a tear fall here; in this place

I will grow a bank of rue, the sour herb of grace.

Rue will shortly be seen growing here for pity,

in the memory of a weeping queen.

Exeunt