Dick is right. It's a poor game chasing
illusions, hunting the intangible, pursuing dreams. Dreams? Why,
we are ourselves dreams. (_He leans back in his chair._)

We are such stuff
As dreams are made on, and our little life
Is rounded with a sleep.

(_He is silent for a while. Suddenly he lifts his head_)

My room at Eton, Dick said. An untidy mess.

(_As he lifts his head and says these words, twilight gives place
to broad daylight, merely as a hint that the author of the play
may have been mistaken, and the whole thing may have been no more
than a poet's dream._)

So it was, and it's an untidy mess there (_looking at screen_) too.
Dick's right. I'll tidy it up. I'll burn the whole damned heap.
(_He advances impetuously toward the screen_) Every damned poem
that I was ever fool enough to waste my time on.

(_He pushes back the screen._ FAME _in a Greek dress with a long
golden trumpet in her hand is seen standing motionless on the
altar like a marble goddess._)

So ... you have come!

(_For a while he stands thunderstruck. Then he approaches the
altar._)

Divine fair lady, you have come.

(_He holds up his hands to her and leads her down from the altar
and into the centre of the stage. At whatever moment the actor
finds it most convenient, he repossesses himself of the sonnet
that he had placed on the altar. He now offers it to_ FAME.)

This is my sonnet. Is it well done?

(FAME _takes it, reads it in silence, while the_ POET _watches her
rapturously._)

FAME. You're a bit of all right.

DE REVES. What?

FAME. Some poet.

DE REVES. I--I--scarcely ... understand.

FAME. You're IT.

DE REVES. But ... it is not possible ... are you she that knew Homer?

FAME. Homer? Lord, yes. Blind old bat, 'e couldn't see a yard.

DE REVES. O Heavens!

(FAME _walks beautifully to the window. She opens it and puts her
head out._)

FAME (_in a voice with which a woman in an upper story would cry
for help if the house was well alight_). Hi! Hi! Boys! Hi! Say,
folks! Hi!

(_The murmur of a gathering crowd is heard._ FAME _blows her
trumpet._)

FAME. Hi, he's a poet. (_Quickly, over her shoulder._) What's your
name?

DE REVES. De Reves.

FAME. His name's de Reves.

DE REVES. Harry de Reves.

FAME. His pals call him Harry.

THE CROWD. Hooray! Hooray! Hooray!

FAME. Say, what's your favourite color?

DE REVES. I ... I ... I don't quite understand.

FAME. Well, which do