Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?

Imogen, to Posthumus
Why did you throw your wedded lady from you?
Think that you are upon a rock, and now
Throw me again.
 She embraces him.

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

Posthumus
Hang there like fruit, my soul,
Till the tree die.
Cymbeline, to Imogen
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, as Morgan, aside to Guiderius and Arviragus
Though you did love this youth, I blame you not.
You had a motive for ’t.
Cymbeline, to Imogen
My tears that fall
Prove holy water on thee.