Alas! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is!
Shift around the letters, and it becomes:
Rest in Peace, James Gandolfini.
An obnoxious kooky mobster? No. I watch him act it.
He wasn’t Tony… rather, I feel, a man of honor in all of his ability.
So, did he know when it came for him?