Alas, poor Yorick!
I knew him, Horatio: a fellow 180 of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? your 185 gambols? your songs? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, Let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must 190 come; make her laugh at that. Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Dost thou think Alexander looked o' this fashion i' the earth?
MOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOoooooooooooooooooooooooooo................