![]() William Shakespeare, The Tempest, act IV, scene i, The First Folio, ġ Tap-tapping the keys and out come the words on this…Ģ On the evening of the little fire, the revelatory fire…ģ I'm back from a tour of the grounds, nothing visible…Ĥ The crying lasted for approximately five minutes and ended in…ĥ To my credit, I suppose, I did not immediately race…Ħ Crosetti, bearing the rolled and wrapped maybe-invaluable manuscript under his…ħ Yes, ridiculous. Our Revels now are ended: These our actors (As I foretold you) were all Spirits, and Are melted into Ayre, into thin Ayre, And like the baselesse fabricke of this vision The Clowd-capt Towres, the gorgeous Pallaces, The solemne Temples, the great Globe it selfe, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And like this insubstantial Pageant faded Leave not a racke behinde: we are such stuffe As dreames are made on and our little life Is rounded with a sleepe.
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