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?