Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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