Shakespeare play from quotes

Random Literature or quote Quiz

Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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