Blue Roses

HAMLET
O, I die, Horatio;
The potent poison quite o'er-crows my spirit:
I cannot live to hear the news from England;
But I do prophesy the election lights
On Fortinbras: he has my dying voice;
So tell him, with the occurrents, more and less,
Which have solicited. The rest is silence.

Dies

HORATIO
Now cracks a noble heart. Good night sweet prince:
And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest!
Why does the drum come hither?

March within

(taken from http://www.web-books.com/Classics/Shakespeare/Hamlet/Hamlet5_8.htm)

I'm sorry about Po. I lost my grandfather earlier this year and it was rough.

Thanks, Daria. This is exactly what I was looking for. {{HUGS}}