| |
[The same. A tent]
Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers
Cor. 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 hardocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, | 4 |
| Darnel, and all the idle weeds that grow | |
| In our sustaining corn. A sentry send forth; | |
| Search every acre in the high-grown field, | |
| And bring him to our eye. [Exit an Officer.] What can man’s wisdom | 8 |
| In the restoring his bereaved sense? | |
| He that helps him take all my outward worth. | |
| Doct. There is means, madam. | |
| Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, | 12 |
| The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, | |
| Are many simples 1 operative, whose power | |
| Will close the eye of anguish. | |
| Cor. All blest secrets, | 16 |
| All you unpublish’d virtues of the earth, | |
| Spring with my tears! be aidant and remediate 2 | |
| In the good man’s distress! Seek, seek for him, | |
| Lest his ungovern’d rage dissolve the life | 20 |
| That wants the means to lead it. | |
| |
Enter a Messenger
Mess. News, madam! | |
| The British powers are marching hitherward. | |
| Cor. ’Tis known before; our preparation stands | 24 |
| In expectation of them. O dear father, | |
| It is thy business that I go about; | |
| Therefore great France | |
| My mourning and importune 3 tears hath pitied. | 28 |
| No blown 4 ambition doth our arms incite, | |
| But love, dear love, and our ag’d father’s right. | |
| Soon may I hear and see him! Exeunt. | |
