"Then if we lose this battle, you are contented to be led in triumph through the streets of Rome?"
His breath a frosty plume in the air, Sam watched the ghost as its deep voice echoed resoundingly through the empty theatre. It's piteous face was painted with centuries-past greasepaint, the eyes agonized and throat slit.
Caught in its nightmare, Sam whispered along with the doomed creature as it wailed its woe to the empty seats.
"Forever and forever farewell, Brutus. If we do meet again, we'll smile indeed. If not, 'tis true this parting was well made."
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Not all of these words are mine, clearly. Thanks be to Shakespeare.