Hamlet: …Alas! Poor Yor-
Ick. I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest,
of most
Excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thou-
Sand 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 gibes
Now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merri-
Ment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not
one
Now, to mock your own grinning? Quite
chapfallen? Now
Get you to my lady’s chamber, and tell her, let her paint
An inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her
Laugh at that.
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