Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy, or extensive depth of field; he hath borne me and my viewcamera 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 lens shade now? Your compendium? Your film holders? Your flashes of photographic vision, that were wont to set the table on a roar?