And, like the baseless fabric of this vision,
The cloud-capp’d towers, the gorgeous palaces,[260]
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.
This sublime inspiration was almost the last outburst of the mighty genius of Shakspere, and is a fitting crown of glory.
Prospero was fully conscious of his superiority, and with simple but grandest dignity he claims that practically it was his own power that worked all the wonders. Most sublimely he expresses this when he calls before him his invisible helpers: