Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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