King Lear, Act 4, Scene 4

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-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.

Oh no, it is him. Someone came across him just now, as mad as the storm-tossed sea, singing out loud, wearing a crown of coarse fumitory and weeds from the furrows, with burdock, hemlock, nettles, cuckoo-flowers, ryegrass and all the useless weeds that grow among the grain that feeds us. Send out a hundred soldiers. Search every acre of the tall grain fields, and bring him here where I can see him.

What can man’s wisdom In the restoring his bereaved sense, He that helps him take all my outward worth.

What can human knowledge do to restore his lost reason? Whoever helps him can have everything I own.

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.

There is a way, madam. Rest is the nurse that feeds our nature, and that is what he lacks. To bring it on in him there are many effective herbs, whose power will shut the eye of his pain.

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.

All you blessed secrets, all you undiscovered healing powers of the earth, spring up with my tears! Help and heal this good man's suffering! Look, look for him, in case his uncontrolled madness destroys a life that has nothing left to guide it.

News, madam; The British powers are marching hitherward.

News, madam. The British forces are marching this way.

’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!

That is already known. Our army is drawn up waiting for them. Oh dear father, it is your cause I am acting for; that is why great France has taken pity on my grief and my urgent tears. No swollen ambition drives our army on, but love, dear love, and our old father's rights. May I soon hear him and see him!