Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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