Epilogue
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William Shakespeare wrote his own farewell through the words of Prospero in "The Tempest:"


Be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These
our actors,
as I fortold you, were all spirits
and
are melted into air, into thin air:
and, like the baseless fabric of
this vision,
the cloud-capp’d towers, the
gorgeous palaces,
the solemn temples, the great
globe itself,
yea all which it inherit shall
dissolve
and, like this insubstantial pageant
faded,
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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