Literature Quiz / Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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