if your computer is incapable of rendering in 1024x768, you have no business being here
Out of the night that covers me,
black as the Pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
for my unconquerable soul.
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
my head is bloody, but unbowed.
Beyond this place of wrath and tears
looms but the horror of the shade,
and yet the menace of the years
finds, and shall find, me unafraid.
It matters not how strait the gate,
how charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate,
I am the captain of my soul.
41.5 Warne to Trescothick, OUT: full and spinning a bit, Trescothick goes for the sweep, the ball hits bat, glove, Trescothick's leg and God only knows what else. It then hits Gilchrist on the thigh and pops up in the air and he snatches a catch!