Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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The quality of mercy is not strain’d
Lord, what fools these mortals be!
Excellent wretch! Perdition catch my soul,/But I do love thee! and when I love thee not,/Chaos is come again.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,/Even such a woman oweth to her husband.
If music be the food of love, play on
Let’s go hand in hand, not one before another
Why, man, he doth bestride the narrow world/Like a Colossus, and we petty men/Walk under his huge legs and peep about/To find ourselves dishonourable graves.
The better part of valour is discretion.
The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
The common curse of mankind,—folly and ignorance.
He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man.
Had I but served my God with half the zeal/I served my king, he would not in mine age/Have left me naked to mine enemies.
A young man married is a man that ’s marr’d
Age cannot wither her, nor custom stale/Her infinite variety.
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,/Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
His nature is too noble for the world:/He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,/Or Jove for ’s power to thunder.
All the world ’s a stage,/And all the men and women merely players.
QuotePlaySpeaker
We have heard the chimes at midnight.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
If it were done when ’t is done, then ’t were well/It were done quickly
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
Golden lads and girls all must,/As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend/The brightest heaven of invention!
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
As an arrow shot/From a well-experienc’d archer hits the mark/His eye doth level at.
And many strokes, though with a little axe,/Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak.
That no Italian priest/Shall tithe or toll in our dominions.
As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods,/They kill us for their sport.
Our revels now are ended.
I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
For God’s sake, let us sit upon the ground/And tell sad stories of the death of kings.
Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer by this sun of York
To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
How use doth breed a habit in a man!
A plague o’ both your houses!

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