Original Text
*Enter with drum and colours, Cordelia, Gentleman, and Soldiers.* CORDELIA. Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now As mad as the vexed sea, singing aloud, Crowned with rank fumiter, and furrow-weeds, With hardocks, 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.
Original Text
What can man's wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense — He that helps him, take all my outward worth. GENTLEMAN. 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.
Original Text
CORDELIA. All blest secrets, All you unpublished virtues of the earth, Spring with my tears; be aidant, and remediate In the good man's distress. Seek, seek for him, Lest his ungoverned rage dissolve the life That wants the means to lead it. *Enter Messenger.*
Original Text
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 importuned 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.*