I knew him, Horatio: a fellow
of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath
cast his line alongside mine a thousand times; and now, how
abhorred in my imagination it is! my gorge rims at
it. Here hung that rod I've wielded I can't
recall how many times. 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?
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Rise and Fall, Rage and Grace
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The_last_alchemist
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