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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, | 5 |
| With burdocks, 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. | 10 |
| What can man’s wisdom | |
| In the restoring his bereaved sense? | |
| He that helps him take all my outward worth. | |
| Phy. There is means, madam; | |
| Our foster-nurse of nature is repose, | 15 |
| The which he lacks; that to provoke in him, | |
| Are many simples operative, whose power | |
| Will close the eye of anguish. | |
| Cor. All bless’d secrets, | |
| All you unpublish’d virtues of the earth, | 20 |
| 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. | 25 |
| Mess. News, madam; | |
| The British powers are marching hitherward. | |
| Cor. ’Tis known before; our preparation stands | |
| In expectation of them. O dear father! | |
| It is thy business that I go about; | 30 |
| Therefore great France | |
| My mourning and important tears hath pitied, | |
| No blown ambition doth our arms incite, | |
| But love, dear love, and our ag’d father’s right, | |
| Soon may I hear and see him! [Exeunt. | 35 |
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