Enter the Queen and two Ladies.
QUEEN.
What sport shall we devise here in this garden
To drive away the heavy thought of care?
LADY.
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?
LADY.
Of either, madam.
QUEEN.
Of neither, girl.
For if of joy, being altogether wanting,
It doth remember me the more of sorrow;
Or if of grief, being altogether had,
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.