Ham. Whose scull was this?
Clowne This, a plague on him, a madde rogues it was,
He powred once a whole flagon of Rhenish of my head,
Why do not you know him? this was one Yorickes scull.
Ham. Was this? I prethee let me see it, alas poore Yoricke 105
I knew him Horatio,
A fellow of infinite mirth, he hath caried mee twenty times
vpon his backe, here hung those lippes that I haue Kissed a
hundred times, and to see, now they abhorre me: Wheres
your iests now Yoricke? your flashes of meriment: now go 110
to my Ladies chamber, and bid her paint her selfe an inch
thicke, to this she must come Yoricke. Horatio, I prethee
tell me one thing, doost thou thinke that Alexander looked
thus?
Hor. Euen so my Lord. 115
Ham. And smelt thus?
Ham. No, why might not imagination worke, as thus of
Alexander, Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander
became earth, of earth we make clay, and Alexander being 120
but clay, why might not time bring to passe, that he might
stoppe the boung hole of a beere barrell?
Imperious Cæsar dead and turnd to clay,
Might stoppe a hole, to keepe the winde away.
Enter King and Queene, Leartes, and other lordes, with a Priest after the coffin.
Ham. What funerall's this that all the Court laments? 125
It shews to be some noble parentage:
Stand by a while.
Lear. What ceremony else? say, what ceremony else?