| [Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers] | |
| CORDELIA | Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud; Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds, With bur-docks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow In our sustaining corn. A century send forth; Search every acre in the high-grown field, And bring him to our eye. |
| [Exit an Officer] | |
| What can man's wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense? He that helps him take all my outward worth. |
|
| Doctor | There is means, madam: Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, Are many simples operative, whose power Will close the eye of anguish. |
| CORDELIA | All blest secrets, All you unpublish'd virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate In the good man's distress! Seek, seek for him; Lest his ungovern'd rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it. |
| [Enter a Messenger] | |
| Messenger | News, madam; The British powers are marching hitherward. |
| CORDELIA | 'Tis known before; our preparation stands In expectation of them. O dear father, It is thy business that I go about; Therefore great France My mourning and important tears hath pitied. No blown ambition doth our arms incite, But love, dear love, and our aged father's right: Soon may I hear and see him! |
| [Exeunt] |