“A fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy”

york

 

Yorick. Evoking monologues since 1599. Memento mori.

“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?”

(Hamlet, V.i)

Yorick. The could-have-been talisman. The most-certainly-dead jester. Reminding us of our own mortality, and providing chuckles along the way.

I took that photo in Stratford-upon-Avon. It was sketched on an ice-cream truck. It was a beautiful, sunny day with a gazillion swans splashing about in the river. There were children feeding them bits of bread crumbs. There were old couples sitting on park benches. And then there was this ice cream truck with Yorick on it.

Oh and then I found this on the internet. Sigh.Yes, cats own the internet. Evidently.

hamcat

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