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Shakespeare wrote his own farewell through the words of Prospero in "The
Be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These
as I fortold you, were all spirits
are melted into air, into thin air:
and, like the baseless fabric of
the cloud-capp’d towers, the
the solemn temples, the great
yea all which it inherit shall
and, like this insubstantial pageant
leave not a rack behind. We are
such stuff as dreams are made on,
and our little life
is rounded with a sleep.
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