curtains from Aurora’s bed, Away from light steals home my heavy son, And private in his chamber pens himself, Shuts 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 not how to lose a winning match, Play’d for a buried corse, And all my heart. And yet not proud. Mistress minion you, Thank me no