Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio: a fellow of infinite flavor, of most excellent taste: he hath borne me with his back a thousand times; and now, how palatable in my imagination it is! my mouth waters at it. Here hung those lips that I have nibbled I know not how oft. Where be your eyes now? your liver? your legs? your tangy arms, that were wont to be set the table on a spit?