Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio;
a fellow 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 rises at it. Here hung those lips,
that I have kissed I know not how oft.
Where be your jibes now? Your 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 must she come; make her laugh at that.

Hamlet. Hamlet Act V Scene 1: A Churchyard.

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