I have just this moment discovered a recording of Richard Burton reading The Tempest, Act I, Scene 4, Prospero's marvelous "Our Revels Now Are Ended," speech. Suddenly, I am in love, with not one, but three men: Burton, Shakespeare, and of course, Prospero, who lives on forever, while the other two's far-from-little-lives, have indeed, been rounded with sleep.
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 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. William Shakespeare From The Tempest, Act 4 Scene 1