Shakespeare Character's First Lines

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Can you name the Shakespeare Characters by First Lines?

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First Line of CharacterCharacter
Stay your thanks a while, and pay them when you part.
Now is the winter of our discontent made glorious summer by this son of York; and all the clouds that loured upon our house in the deep bosom of the ocean buried.
'Tis better as it is.
Princes, what grief hath set the jaundice on your cheeks?
Always obedient to your grace's will, I come to know your pleasure.
Attend my lords of France and Burgundy, Gloucester.
Uncles of Gloucester and of Winchester, the special watchmen of our English weal, I would prevail, if prayers might prevail to join your hearts in love and amity.
Ay me, sad hours seem long.
Thou are so fat-witted with drinking of old sack, and unbuttoning thee after supper, and sleeping upon benches after noon...
Cease to persuade, my loving Proteus.
I can but say their protestation over.
A little more than kin and less than kind.
So foul and fair a day I have not seen.
There's beggary in the love that can be reckoned.
So shaken as we are, so wan with care, find we a time for frightend peace to pant and breathe short-winded accents of new broils to be commenced in strands afar remote.
Now, Master Shallow, you'll complain of me to the King?
First Line of CharacterCharacter
In sooth, I know not why I am so sad.
Calpurnia.
Verona, for a while I take my leave to see my friend in Padua.
Imprisoned is he, say you?
Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier?
Thanks. What's the matter, you dissentious rogues, that, rubbing the poor itch of your opinion, make yourselves scabs?
What country, friends, is this?
No more amazement. Tell your piteous heart there's no harm done.
Benedick, didst thou note the daughter of Signor Leonato?
Go bear it to the Centaur, where we host, and say there, Dromio, till I come to thee.
I am, my lord, as well derived as he, as well possessed.
I do affect a sorrow indeed, but I have it too.
Hail, Rome, victorious in thy mourning weeds!
Old John of Gaunt, time-honoured Lancaster, hast thou according to thy oath and bond brought hither Henry Hereford, they bold son, here to make good the boist'rous late appeal...
I have, Antiochus, and with a soul emboldened with the glory of her praise think death no hazard in this enterprise.
Now say, Chatillon, what would France with us?

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