Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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