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 GIBES NOW? YOUR GAMBOLS? YOUR SONGS? YOUR FLASHES OF MERRIMENT, THAT WERE WONT TO SET THE TABLE ON A ROAR? (HAMLET, V.I)