wear them. O, here Will I 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 I hate, Rather than Paris. These are news indeed. LADY CAPULET. Accurs’d, unhappy, wretched, hateful day. Most lamentable day, most woeful day That ever, ever, I did yet behold! O day, O day, O woeful day, O woeful day. Most lamentable day, most woeful day That I might venge my cousin’s death. LADY CAPULET. Ay, you have