Literature / Shakespearean First Lines

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Can you name the Shakespearean play with its first line?

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First LinePlaySpeaker
'Noble patricians, patrons of my right,/Defend the justice of my cause with arms,/And, countrymen, my loving followers,/Plead my successive title with your swords'
'Boatswain!'
'When shall we three meet again/In thunder, lightning, or in rain?'
'Sir Hugh, persuade me not; I will make a Star-chamber matter of it; if he were twenty Sir John Falstaffs, he shall not abuse Robert Shallow, Esquire'
'Proceed, Solinus, to procure my fall/And by the doom of death end woes and all'
'Two households, both alike in dignity,/In fair Verona, where we lay our scene,/From ancient grudge break to new mutiny,/Where civil blood makes civil hands unclean'
'Good day, sir'
'I'll pheeze you, in faith'
'If you shall chance, Camillo, to visit Bohemia, on the like occasion whereon my services are now on foot, you shall see'
'As I remember, Adam, it was upon this fashion,—bequeathed me by will but poor a thousand crowns, and, as thou say'st, charged my brother, on his blessing, to breed me well'
'I learn in this letter that Don Pedro of Arragon comes this night to Messina.'
'In delivering my son from me, I bury a second husband.'
'In sooth, I know not why I am so sad;/It wearies me; you say it wearies you'
'I thought the King had more affected the Duke of Albany than Cornwall'
First LinePlaySpeaker
'If music be the food of love, play on'
'Who's there?'
'To sing a song that old was sung,/From ashes ancient Gower is come;/Assuming man's infirmities,/To glad your ear, and please your eyes'
'Escalus'
'Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus:/Home-keeping youth have ever homely wits.'
'Now, fair Hippolyta, our nuptial hour/Draws on apace; four happy days bring in/Another moon'
'Nay, but this dotage of our general's/O'erflows the measure'
'Before we proceed any further, hear me speak.'
'Tush! never tell me; I take it much unkindly/That thou, Iago, who hast had my purse/As if the strings were thine, shouldst know of this'
'Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer byt his sun of York;/And all the clouds that lour'd upon our house/In the deep bosom of the ocean buried'
'Let fame, that all hunt after in their lives,/Live regist'red upon our brazen tombs,/And then grace us in the disgrace of death'
'Home! home, you idle creatures, get you home!'
'You do not meet a man but frowns.'
'In Troy, there lies the scene'

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