Verily, a New Hope (William Shakespeare's Star Wars, #4)

by Ian Doescher

But O, what now? What light through yonder flashing sensor breaks?

*snort*

Aye: frailty, thy name—belike—is Force.

Alas, poor stormtrooper, I knew ye not, Yet have I ta’en both uniform and life From thee. What manner of a man wert thou? A man of inf’nite jest or cruelty? A man with helpmate and with children too? A man who hath his Empire serv’d with pride? A man, perhaps, who wish’d for perfect peace? Whate’er thou wert, good man, thy pardon grant Unto the one who took thy place: e’en me.

Friends, rebels, starfighters, lend me your ears. Wish not we had a single fighter more,

Once more unto the trench, dear friends, once more! The death of our dear friends we see today, And by my troth their souls shall be aveng’d!

We three, we happy three, we band of brothers, Shall fly unto the trench with throttles full!