Shall's have a play of this? Thou scornful page, There lie thy part. O, gentlemen, help! Mine and your mistress! O, my lord Posthumus! You ne'er kill'd Imogen til now. Help, help! Mine honour'd lady! Does the world go round? How come these staggers on me? Wake, my mistress! If this be so, the gods do mean to strike me To death with mortal joy. How fares thy mistress? O, get thee from my sight; Thou gavest me poison: dangerous fellow, hence! Breathe not where princes are. The tune of Imogen! 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. New matter still? It poison'd me. 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 served As I would serve a rat.' What's this, Comelius? The queen, sir, very oft importuned 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? Most like I did, for I was dead. My boys, There was our error. This is, sure, Fidele. Why did you throw your wedded lady from you? Think that you are upon a rock; and now Throw me again. Hang there like a fruit, my soul, Till the tree die! How now, my flesh, my child! What, makest thou me a dullard in this act? Wilt thou not speak to me? Your blessing, sir. Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not: You had a motive for't. My tears that fall Prove holy water on thee! Imogen, Thy mother's dead. I am sorry for't, my lord. O, she was nought; and long of her it was That we meet here so strangely: but her son Is gone, we know not how nor where. My lord, Now fear is from me, I'll speak troth. Lord Cloten, Upon my lady's missing, came to me With his sword drawn; foam'd at the mouth, and swore, If I discover'd not which