Shakespeare Characters by Lines

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Can you name the Shakespeare Characters by Lines?

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I will aggravate my voice so that I will roar you as gently as any sucking dove. I will roar you an 'twere any nightingale.
And you, good yeomen, / Whose limbs were made in England, show us here / The mettle of your pasture.
O brave new world / That has such people in't!
I'll lay fourteen of my teeth--and yet, to my teen be it spoken, I have but four--she's not fourteen.
Yet who would have thought the old man to have had so much blood in him?
For suff'rance is the badge of all our tribe. / You call me misbeliever, cut-throat, dog.
Ay, ay, a scratch, a scratch. ... 'tis not so deep as a well, nor so wide as a church door, but 'tis enough. 'Twill serve.
Give me my robe. Put on my crown. I have / Immortal longings in me. Now no more / The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip.
There's fennel for you, and columbines. There's rue for you, and here's some for me.
I know she is an irksome brawling scold. / If that be all, masters, I hear no harm.
We do pray for mercy, / And that same prayer doth teach us all to render / The deeds of mercy.
That a woman conceived me, I thank her. That she brought me up, I likewise give her most humble thanks. But ... I will live a bachelor.
You cannot, sir, take from me anything that I will more willingly part withal--except my life, my life, my life.
So thanks to all at once, and to each one, / Whom we invite to see us crowned at Scone.
Indeed, I am in the waist two yards about.
LinesSpeakerPlay
I never may believe / These antique fables, nor these fairy toys. / Lovers and madmen have such seething brains.
My noble father, / I do perceive here a divided duty.
This is the feast that I have bid her to, / And this is the banquet she shall surfeit on.
You gave me nothing for't. Can you make no use of nothing, nuncle?
Sir, I love you more than words can wield the matter... As much as child e'er loved, or father found.
The powers that he already hath in Gallia / Will soon be drawn to head, from whence he moves / His war for Britain.
This island's mine, by Sycorax my mother, / Which thou tak'st from me.
From Alexandria / This is the news: he fishes, drinks, and wastes / The lamps of night in revel.
His life was gentle, and the elements / So mixed in him that nature might stand up / And say to all the world 'This was a man.'
Because I cannot flatter and look fair, / Smile in men's faces, smooth, deceive, and cog ... I must be held a rancorous enemy.
It is the law, not I, condemn your brother. / Were he my kinsman, brother, or my son, / It should be thus with him. He must die tomorrow.
Conceal me what I am, and be my aid ... I'll serve this duke. / Thou shalt present me as an eunuch to him.
Then am I kinged again, and by and by / Think that I am unkinged by Bolingbroke, / And straight am nothing.
Is it possible disdain should die while she hath such meet food to feed it as Signor Benedick?
I'll no longer be guilty of this sin. This sanguine coward, this bed-presser, this horse-back-breaker, this huge hill of flesh...

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