Epilogue To "The Tempest"

One posts, as an oblique "verb pronoun" response to recent criticisms that this vanity blog has featured too much poetry, the remarkably contemporary moment at the end of William Shakespeare's "The Tempest" wherein the wizard Prospero addresses the audience directly.
He tells them that the play is almost over, his powers have dwindled, and thus his escape from the drama's island setting depends on their applause--that they, in effect, get to decide his fate:

Now my charms are all o'erthrown,
And what strength I have's mine own,
Which is most faint. Now, 'tis true,
I must be here confined by you,
Or sent to Naples. Let me not,
Since I have my dukedom got
And pardoned the deceiver, dwell
In this bare island by your spell,
But release me from my bands
With the help of your good hands.
Gentle breath of yours my sails
Must fill, or else my project fails,
Which was to please. Now I want
Spirits to enforce, art to enchant,
And my ending is despair,
Unless I be relieved by prayer,
Which pierces so that it assaults
Mercy itself and frees all faults.
As you from crimes would pardoned be,
Let your indulgence set me free.