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,

Yea, all which it inherits, shall dis

solve,

And, like this insubstantial pageant faded,

Leave not a rack behind: we are such stuff

As dreams are made of, and our little life

Is rounded with a sleep.

Tempest, act. iv. sc. 4.