Cymbeline

Peace, my lord; hear, hear--

POSTHUMUS.
Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page,
There lies thy part.

[Striking her; she falls.]

PISANIO.
O gentlemen, help
Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus!
You ne'er kill'd Imogen till now. Help, help!
Mine honour'd lady!

CYMBELINE.
Does the world go round?

POSTHUMUS.
How comes these staggers on me?

PISANIO.
Wake, my mistress!

CYMBELINE.
If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me
To death with mortal joy.

PISANIO.
How fares my mistress?

IMOGEN.
O, get thee from my sight;
Thou gav'st me poison. Dangerous fellow, hence!
Breathe not where princes are.

CYMBELINE.
The tune of Imogen!

PISANIO.
Lady,
The gods throw stones of sulphur on me, if
That box I gave you was not thought by me
A precious thing! I had it from the Queen.

CYMBELINE.
New matter still?

IMOGEN.
It poison'd me.

CORNELIUS.
O gods!
I left out one thing which the Queen confess'd,
Which must approve thee honest. "If Pisanio
Have," said she "given his mistress that confection
Which I gave him for cordial, she is serv'd
As I would serve a rat."

CYMBELINE.
What's this, Cornelius?

CORNELIUS.
The Queen, sir, very oft importun'd me
To temper poisons for her, still pretending
The satisfaction of her knowledge only
In killing creatures vile, as cats and dogs,
Of no esteem. I, dreading that her purpose
Was of more danger, did compound for her
A certain stuff, which, being ta'en, would cease
The present power of life, but in short time
All offices of nature should again
Do their due functions. Have you ta'en of it?

IMOGEN.
Most like I did, for I was dead.

BELARIUS.
My boys,
There was our error.

GUIDERIUS.
This is, sure, Fidele.

IMOGEN.
Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again.

[Embracing him.]

POSTHUMUS.
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die!

CYMBELINE.
How now, my flesh, my child!
What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this act?
Wilt thou not speak to me?

IMOGEN.