Page 350 - Shakespeare - Vol. 3

Nay, I know not.

GRAVE.
A pestilence on him for a mad rogue! A poured a flagon of Rhenish on my
head once. This same skull, sir, was Yorick’s skull, the King’s jester. [175]

HAMLET
This?
[Takes the skull.]

GRAVE.
E’en that.

HAMLET
Alas, poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio, a fellow of infinite jest, of most
excellent fancy. He hath bore me on his back a thousand times, and now
[180] − 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? Not one now to [185] mock your own grinning? Quite
chop-fallen? 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. − Prithee,

Horatio, tell me one thing.

HORATIO
What’s that, my lord? [190]

HAMLET
Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’th’ earth?

HORATIO
E’en so.

HAMLET
And smelt so? Pah!
[Puts down the skull.]