Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Post. Till the Tree dye.
Cym. Cym.
Cym. How now, my Flesh? my Childe?
Cym. What, mak'st thou me a dullard in this Act?
Cym. Wilt thou not speake to me?
Imo. Imo.
Imo. Your blessing, Sir.
Bel. Bel.
Bel. Though you did loue this youth, I blame ye not,
Bel. You had a motiue for't.
Cym. My teares that fall
Cym. Proue holy‑water on thee; Imogen,
Cym. Thy Mothers dead.
Imo. I am sorry for't, my Lord.
Cym. Oh, she was naught; and long of her it was
Cym. That we meet heere so strangely: but her Sonne
Cym. Is gone, we know not how, nor where.