people shouted so loudly that it almost seemed the mighty lists would fall.  Arcite now put up his helmet, and, curveting his horse through the open space, smiled to Emily, when a fire from Pluto started out of the earth; the horse shied, and his rider was thrown on his head on the ground.  When he was lifted, his breast was broken, and his face was as black as coal.  Then there was grief in Athens; every one wept.  Soon after, Arcite, feeling the cold death creeping up from his feet and darkening his face and eyes, called Palamon and Emily to his bedside, when he joined their hands, and died.  The dead body was laid on a pile, dressed in splendid war gear; his naked sword was placed by his side; the pile was heaped with gums, frankincense, and odours; a torch was applied; and when the flames rose up, and the smoky fragrance rolled to heaven, the Greeks galloped round three times, with a great shouting and clashing of shields.”

The Man of Law’s tale runs in this wise: 

“There dwelt in Syria once a company of merchants, who scented every land with their spices.  They dealt in jewels, and cloth of gold, and sheeny satins.  It so happened that while some of them were dwelling in Rome for traffic, the people talked of nothing save the wonderful beauty of Constance, the daughter of the emperor.  She was so fair that every one who looked upon her face fell in love with her.  In a short time the ships of the merchants, laden with rich wares, were furrowing the green sea, going home.  When they came to their native city they could talk of nothing but the marvellous beauty of Constance.  Their words being reported to the Sultan, he determined that none other should be his wife; and for this purpose he abandoned the religion of the false prophet, and was baptised in the Christian faith.  Ambassadors passed between the courts, and the day came at length when Constance was to leave Rome for her husband’s palace in Syria.  What kisses and tears and lingering embraces!  What blessings on the little golden head which was so soon to lie in the bosom of a stranger!  What state and solemnity in the procession which wound down from the shore to the ship!  At last it was Syria.  Crowds of people were standing on the beach.  The mother of the Sultan was there; and when Constance stepped ashore, she took her in her arms and kissed her as if she had been her own child.  Soon after, with trumpets and melody and the trampling of innumerable horses, the Sultan came.  Everything was joy and happiness.  But the smiling demoness, his mother, could not forgive him for changing his faith, and she resolved to slay him that very night, and seize the government of the kingdom.  He and all his lords were stabbed in the rich hall while they were sitting at their wine.  Constance alone escaped.  She was then put into a ship alone, with food and clothes, and told that she might find her way back to Italy.  She sailed away, and was never seen