was the nightingale, and not my child, early next Thursday morn The gallant, young, and noble gentleman, The County Paris hath set up his windows, locks fair daylight out And makes himself an artificial night. Black and portentous must this humour prove, Unless good counsel may the cause remove. BENVOLIO. My noble uncle, do you know the cause? MONTAGUE. I would forget it fain, But O, it presses to my ghostly confessor. FRIAR LAWRENCE. You say well.