Revista paradigmele postmodernitatii Revista "paradigmele postmodernitatii" | Page 148

Let me see. (takes the skull) 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 favor she must come. Make her
laugh at that. – Prithee, Horatio, tell me one thing.
Let me see. (he takes the skull) Oh, poor Yorick! I used to know him, Horatio—a very funny guy,
and with an excellent imagination. He carried me on his back a thousand times, and now—how
terrible – this is him. It makes my stomach turn. I don’t know how many times I kissed the lips that
used to be right here. Where are your jokes now? Your pranks? Your songs?
Your flashes of wit that used to set the whole table laughing? You don’t make anybody smile now.
Are you sad about that? You need to go to my lady’s room and tell her that no matter how much
makeup she slathers on, she’ll end up just like you some day. That’ll make her laugh. Horatio, tell
me something.
If I profane with my unworthiest hand
This holy shrine, the gentle fine is this:
My lips, two blushing pilgrims, ready stand
To smooth that rough touch with a tender kiss. (Romeo)
To be, or not to be? That is the question—
Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer
The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune,
Or to take arms against a sea of troubles,
And, by opposing, end them? To die, to sleep –
No more – and by a sleep to say we end
The heartache and the thousand natural shocks
That flesh is heir to –’tis a consummation (Hamlet)
Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.