Alas, poor Yorick! I knew him

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 rims 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?

As I lay in bed one morning I thought, "I know, I'll make a Hamlet doll".  I had earlier attempted an Ophelia scarf, which ended up being a crochet fail.  I'm not sure what was missing, or what might have saved Ophelia (so to speak).  The scarf was ultimately dissected and repurposed for other projects.

At any rate, I set about to create Hamlet at the point where he discovers Yorick's skull in the graveyard.  I did not follow a pattern. He stands in my living room, contemplative and melancholy, keeping company with other crocheted sculptures born of my ennui.