[First] Clo. Why, sir, his hide is so tanned
with his trade that he will keep out water a great
while, and your water is a sore decayer of your
whoreson dead body. Here's a skull now; this
skull hath lain you i' the earth three-and-twenty
years. 192
Ham. Whose was it?
[First] Clo. A whoreson mad fellow's it was:
whose do you think it was?
Ham. Nay, I know not. 196
[First] Clo. 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.
Ham. This!
[First] Clo. E'en that. 202
Ham. Let me see.—[Takes the skull.]—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? 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. Prithee, Horatio, tell
me one thing.
Hor. What's that, my lord? 218
189 sore: grievous
190 whoreson: plagued
215 favour: appearance
