We are such stuff
As dreams are made on and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep..."

--From The Tempest (IV, i, 156-157)

Prospero has consented to the marriage of his daughter and Ferdinand in this whimsical play about reconciling with family, forgiveness, and faith in the future. Prospero lives on a magical island with his daughter, Miranda, and a host of spirits and sprites. He was banished by his brother over a decade ago, and has now used his magic to cause the ship on which his brother and King Alonso and his entourage were sailing to come under his influence. They have been shipwrecked on Prospero's island, and a series of magical events occur. When Miranda and Ferdinand are about to marry, Prospero speaks the famous line which celebrates that uniquely human blend of mind and matter.

 

 

 

Original Text                                                                            

Modern Text

PROSPERO
(to FERDINAND) You do look, my son, in a moved sort,
As if you were dismayed. Be cheerful, sir.
Our revels now are ended. These our actors,
As I foretold you, were all spirits and
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 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. Sir, I am vexed.
Bear with my weakness. My old brain is troubled.
Be not disturbed with my infirmity.
If you be pleased, retire into my cell
And there repose. A turn or two I’ll walk
To still my beating mind.

--Act IV, Scene i, lines 146-163

PROSPERO
(to FERDINAND) You look like something’s bothering you. Cheer up. Our music-and-dance spectacle is over. These actors were all spirits, as I told you, and they’ve all melted into thin air. And just like the whole empty and ungrounded vision you’ve seen, with its towers topped with clouds, its gorgeous palaces, solemn temples, the world itself—and everyone living in it—which will dissolve just as this illusory pageant has dissolved, leaving not even a wisp of cloud behind. We are all made of dreams, and our life stretches from sleep before birth to sleep after death. Sir, I’m upset. Please put up with my weakness. My old brain is troubled. Don’t be disturbed by my illness. If you like, you can rest a while in my room. I’ll go for a short walk to calm down my feverish mind.