A Little More Than Kin, And Less

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?

Like A Barber's Chair That Fits All Buttocks.

I Am Such A Tender Ass, If My Hair Do But Tickle Me, I Must Scratch.

It Is Great To Do That Thing That Ends All Other Deeds, Which Shackles Accidents And Bolts Up Change.

All The World's A Stage, And All The Men And Women Mearly Players.