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A beer barrel. I was just trying to be a smart-ass.
yeah I think that was an old name for a draft
And something about stopping a bunghole.
It’s:
“Let me see…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.”
Then he starts waxing on the nature of mortality and how the bones of Kings become the muddy-walls of peasants.
sorry “thou” bit of a brainfart there…
“Villain take my purse, if ever I would thrive bury my body. And… give the letters which though find’st about me to Edmund Earl of Gloucester; seek him out upon the British Party, oooh untimely death… DEATH…”