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 As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies, That keep her from her rest.

Macb. Cure her of that. Canst thou not minister to a mind diseas'd; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow; Rase out the written troubles of the brain; And, with some sweet oblivious antidote. Cleanse the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart?

Each of the tyrants alike, in his concern about the feelings of others, clearly reveals the agitation of his own breast.

It is true, that Richard represents the enemy as a troop only of banditti;