I'd have gone to a different scene:
Alas, poor Ned! 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.....
Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment that were wont to set the table on a roar?