Enter, with drum and colours, CORDELIA, Doctor, and Soldiers.
CORDELIA: Alack, 'tis he: why, he was met even now[Exit an Officer.] What can man's wisdom
As mad as the vex'd sea; singing aloud;
Crown'd with rank fumiter and furrow-weeds,
With bur-docks, 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.
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.