Prospero: We are such stuff
As dreams are made on; and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.
Gonzalo: Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of barren ground, long heath, brown furze, any thing. The wills above be done! but I would fain die a dry death.
Prospero: What seest thou else
In the dark backward and abysm of time?
I, thus neglecting worldly ends, all dedicated
To closeness and the bettering of my mind
Who having into truth, by telling of it,
Made such a sinner of his memory,
To credit his own lie
Was dukedom large enough
I will be correspondent to command,
And do my spiriting gently.
Fill all thy bones with aches, make thee roar
That beasts shall tremble at thy din.
There’s nothing ill can dwell in such a temple:
If the ill spirit have so fair a house,
Good things will strive to dwell with’t.
Gonzalo: Here is everything advantageous to life.
Antonio: True; save means to live.
misery acquaints a man with strange bed-fellows
Ferdinand: here’s my hand.
Miranda: And mine, with my heart in’t
Stephano: He that dies pays all debts.
Of excellent dumb discourse