“Alas, poor YORICK!”

“Alas, poor Yorick!" he said. "She heard mermaids, so it follows that there is something rotten in the state of Denmark. I have caught an everlasting cold, but luckily I am terribly dishonest. I cling to that.”

“Alas, poor yorlik, I once knew him backwards.”

“Alas, poor country, almost afraid to know itself! It cannot be called our mother, but our grave.”

“Alas, poor gentleman,He look’d not like the ruins of his youthBut like the ruins of those ruins.”

“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 rims 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 chap-fallen?”