Then to these, out of the dimness, comes forth Caliban. Groping, dazed, he reaches his arms toward the dark circle, where the stately Spirit has vanished. In a voice hoarse with feeling, he speaks aloud.
CALIBAN Lady of the Yellow Sands! O Life! O Time! Thy tempest blindeth me: Thy beauty baffleth.— A little have I crawled, a little only Out of mine ancient cave. All that I build I botch; all that I do destroyeth my dream. Yet—yet I yearn to build, to be thine Artist And stablish this thine Earth among the stars— Beautiful! [Turning to the light, where the Three are grouped.] —O bright Beings, help me still! More visions—visions, Master!
[With gesture of longing, he crouches at Shakespeare’s feet, gazing up in his face, which looks on him with tenderness. With Caliban, Miranda too appeals to the Cloaked Figure.]
MIRANDA [Wistfully.] —Master? [To her raised eyes, he returns a pensive smile.]
SHAKESPEARE
[As Prospero]“Child, 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-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself, Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve, And, like this unsubstantial 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.”
[Then, while the light focusses and fades in darkness on the pensive form of Shakespeare, the choirs of Ariel’s Spirits repeat, unseen, in song:]
THE SPIRITS OF ARIEL “We are such stuff As dreams are made on, and our little life Is rounded with a sleep.”