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.
[Kneeling.] Your blessing, sir.
BELARIUS.
[To Guiderius and Arviragus.] Though you did love this youth, I blame ye not;
You had a motive for’t.
CYMBELINE.
My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee! Imogen,
Thy mother’s dead.
IMOGEN.
I am sorry for’t, my lord.
CYMBELINE.
O, she was naught, and long of her it was
That we meet here so strangely; but her son
Is gone, we know not how nor where.
PISANIO.
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 way she was gone,
It was my instant death. By accident
I had a feigned letter of my master’s
Then in my pocket, which directed him
To seek her on the mountains near to Milford;
Where, in a frenzy, in my master’s garments,
Which he enforc’d from me, away he posts
With unchaste purpose, and with oath to violate
My lady’s honour. What became of him
I further know not.
GUIDERIUS.
Let me end the story:
I slew him there.
CYMBELINE.
Marry, the gods forfend!
I would not thy good deeds should from my lips
Pluck a hard sentence. Prithee, valiant youth,
Deny’t again.