Alas, poor Yorick!
William Shakespeare
1564 to 1616
Track 1
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Not one now, to mock your own grinning? quite chap-fallen?
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rises at it.
Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.
to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that.
borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how
Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing...
your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar?
Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick,
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
Where be your gibes now? your gambols? your songs?
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