As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends,

I must not look to have; but in their stead

Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath,

Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.

Macbeth. Act v. Sc. 3.

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Doct.      Not so sick, my lord,

As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,

That keep her from her rest.

Macb.        Cure her of that.