Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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