Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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Let’s go hand in hand, not one before another
All the world ’s a stage,/And all the men and women merely players.
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.
I will make a Star-chamber matter of it.
As flies to wanton boys are we to th' gods,/They kill us for their sport.
The first thing we do, let’s kill all the lawyers.
The common curse of mankind,—folly and ignorance.
The quality of mercy is not strain’d
Hung be the heavens with black, yield day to night!
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.
We have heard the chimes at midnight.
He that hath a beard is more than a youth, and he that hath no beard is less than a man.
Such duty as the subject owes the prince,/Even such a woman oweth to her husband.
A plague o’ both your houses!
O, that this too too solid flesh would melt,/Thaw and resolve itself into a dew!
As an arrow shot/From a well-experienc’d archer hits the mark/His eye doth level at.
If music be the food of love, play on
O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend/The brightest heaven of invention!
QuotePlaySpeaker
To unpathed waters, undreamed shores.
Some rise by sin, and some by virtue fall.
And many strokes, though with a little axe,/Hew down and fell the hardest-timbered oak.
Men shut their doors against a setting sun.
His nature is too noble for the world:/He would not flatter Neptune for his trident,/Or Jove for ’s power to thunder.
The words of Mercury are harsh after the songs of Apollo.
Golden lads and girls all must,/As chimney-sweepers, come to dust.
A young man married is a man that ’s marr’d
Now is the winter of our discontent/Made glorious summer by this sun of York
The better part of valour is discretion.
If it were done when ’t is done, then ’t were well/It were done quickly
How use doth breed a habit in a man!
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.
The eagle suffers little birds to sing.
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.
That no Italian priest/Shall tithe or toll in our dominions.
Our revels now are ended.

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