Literature Quiz / Shakespeare play from quotes

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Can you name the Shakespeare plays from quotes?

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

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