As if the dream I walk’d in were no dream,
     And conscience one day to account for it. 
     A dream it was in which I thought myself,
     And you that hail’d me now then hail’d me King,
     In a brave palace that was all my own,
     Within, and all without it, mine; until,
     Drunk with excess of majesty and pride,
     Methought I tower’d so high and swell’d so wide,
     That of myself I burst the glittering bubble,
     That my ambition had about me blown,
     And all again was darkness.  Such a dream
     As this in which I may be walking now;
     Dispensing solemn justice to you shadows,
     Who make believe to listen; but anon,
     With all your glittering arms and equipage,
     King, princes, captains, warriors, plume and steel,
     Ay, ev’n with all your airy theatre,
     May flit into the air you seem to rend
     With acclamation, leaving me to wake
     In the dark tower; or dreaming that I wake
     From this that waking is; or this and that
     Both waking or both dreaming; such a doubt
     Confounds and clouds our mortal life about. 
     And, whether wake or dreaming, this I know,
     How dream-wise human glories come and go;
     Whose momentary tenure not to break,
     Walking as one who knows he soon may wake,
     So fairly carry the full cup, so well
     Disorder’d insolence and passion quell,
     That there be nothing after to upbraid
     Dreamer or doer in the part he play’d,
     Whether To-morrow’s dawn shall break the spell,
     Or the Last Trumpet of the eternal Day,
     When Dreaming with the Night shall pass away. 
     (Exeunt.)