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			 _ ACT IV. SCENE IV.
The French camp.
[Enter, with Drum and Colours, Cordelia, Doctor, and Soldiers.]
  CORDELIA.
  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 harlocks, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo flow'rs,
     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.
 
  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 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 Messenger.]
  Messenger.
  News, madam.
     The British pow'rs 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 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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