Read by Helen Cooper

The compleynt of feire Anelida and fals Arcite

Thou ferse god of armes, Mars the rede

That in the frosty country called Trace,

Within thy grisly temple ful of drede

Honoured art, as patroun of that place!

With thy Bellona, Pallas, ful of grace,

Be present, and my song continue and gye;

At my beginning thus to thee I crye.

For hit ful depe is sonken in my minde,

With pitous herte in English to’ endyte

This olde storie, in Latin which I finde,

Of quene Anelida and fals Arcite,

That elde, which that al can frete and byte,

As hit hath freten mony a noble storie,

Hath nigh devoured out of our memorie.

Be favorable eek, thou Polymnia,

On Parnaso that, with thy sustres glade,

By Elicon, not fer from Cirrea,

Singest with vois memorial in the shade,

Under the laurer which that may not fade,

And do that I my ship to haven winne;

First folow I Stace, and after him Corinne.