Our revels now are ended. These our actors,As I foretold you, were all spirits, andAre melted into air, into thin air;And like the baseless fabric of this vision,The cloud-capp'd tow'rs, the gorgeous palaces,The solemn temples, the great glove itself,Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,And, like this insubstantial pageant faded, Leave not a rack behind. We are such stuffAs dreams are made on, and our little lifeIs rounded with a sleep.
Like (0) Dislike (0)
Your Comment