Now will I speak of woeful Damian, That languisheth for love, as ye shall hear; Therefore I speak to him in this mannére. I say. “O silly Damian, alas! Answér to this demand, as in this case, How shalt thou to thy lady, freshë May, Tellë thy woe? She will alway say nay; Eke if thou speak, she will thy woe bewray; 2896 God be thine help, I can no better say. This sickë Damian in Venus’ fire So burned that he diëd for desire; For which he put his life in áventure, 2897 No longer might he in this wise endure; But privily a penner 2898 gan he borrow, And in a letter wrote he all his sorrow, In manner of a cómplaint or a lay, Unto his fairë freshë lady May. And in a purse of silk, hung on his shirt, He hath it put, and laid it at his heart.