Literature / Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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