Alas, poor Rainbow Dash! I knew her, Horatio; a mare of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; she hath borne me on her 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?