HAMLET. Dost thou think Alexander looked o’ this fashion i’ th’earth?

HORATIO. E’en so.

HAMLET. And smelt so? Pah!

[_Throws down the skull._]

HORATIO. E’en so, my lord.

HAMLET. To what base uses we may return, Horatio! Why may not imagination trace the noble dust of Alexander till he find it stopping a bung-hole?

HORATIO. ’Twere to consider too curiously to consider so.