Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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