Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits and (140) Are melted into air, into thin air. And like the baseless fabric of this vision, The cloud-capped towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Ye all which it inherit, shall dissolve, (145) And like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.
