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 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. |
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, |
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, |
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. |
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; |
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. |
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