To Gordon

A week has past, and a day.

Reason demands that we go on, and yet...we are not so to be.

No explanation has come as to what hand took life from our gentle Prince, and it seems that none is to come. Not plague nor weakness, not harm nor fear.

He was simply beset in a way that not even greatness could resist.

Bravely faced; his heart never failed until all else had been reduced.

He was my champion, as he was for Princess Foxy, and always will be.

Sweet, poetic Gordon. Gentle and shy in life, but always capable.

Our love goes with him, long after the honour guard has borne him to the stage.

Let four captains
Bear Hamlet, like a soldier, to the stage;
For he was likely, had he been put on,
To have proved most royally: and, for his passage,
The soldiers' music and the rites of war
Speak loudly for him.
Take up the bodies: such a sight as this
Becomes the field, but here shows much amiss.
Go, bid the soldiers shoot.

Shakespeare, The Tragedy of Hamlet, Prince of Denmark, Act V, Scene 2.