"As she is troubled with thick-coming fancies,
That keep her from her rest.
Cure her of that:
Canst thou minister to a mind
Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow,
Raze out the written troubles of the brain,
And with some sweet oblivious antidote
Clense the stuff'd bosom of that perilous stuff
Which weighs upon the heart?" V, iii, 38-45.