[Enter with Drum and Colors, Cordelia, Doctor,
Gentlemen, and Soldiers.]
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, cuckooflowers,
 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. [Soldiers exit.]
What can man’s wisdom
 In the restoring his bereavèd 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All you unpublished virtues of the earth,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.
MESSENGER News, madam.
The British powers are marching hitherward.
’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.