The Tempest

by William Shakespeare

PROSPERO Thy mother was a piece of virtue, and She said thou wast my daughter:

Our revels now are ended. These our actors, As I foretold you, were all spirits, and Are melted into air, into thin air:

We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.

Where the bee sucks, there suck I: In a cowslip’s bell I lie; 95 There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat’s back I do fly After summer merrily: Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.

O, wonder! 205 How many goodly creatures are there here! How beauteous mankind is! O brave new world That has such people in’t!