And now the companies enter the lists and are lined up two deep, facing one another.  The heralds’ trumpets sound, the names of the combatants are read and the gates closed.

Once more the trumpets blare, the heralds call “To your places, knights,” and the fight begins.  The combatants rush together.  Swords flash, spears are set in rest.  Here one is borne from his horse, here another is pierced through the breast.  Here a knight swings his mace and crashes through helm and bone.  Nor armour nor skill can ward off such mighty blows, and horses and their riders fall.  One is taken captive to the stake.  Another shares his fate.  Thick rises the dust, loud rings the battle din, and on all sides fierce confusion reigns and cruel war.

Throughout the mele rage Palamon and Arcite; Arcite like a tiger that has lost her whelp, Palamon like a ravening lion athirst for blood.  Through the long day they fight, until at last Palamon is set upon by Arcite and the Indian king at once, with twenty more knights to help them.  Then, not all the great strength of his arm and sword can avail him, but, o’erborne by the weight of numbers, he is dragged, resisting still, to the shameful stake.

When Theseus saw this he stopped the fight.

“Ho—­no more,” he said.  “All is done.  Emily is the bride of Arcite of Thebes.”  Sad was Palamon, but Arcite, with helm unlaced, rode proudly on his courser towards Emily.  All the trumpets sang loud of his victory.  Thousands of voices acclaimed him.  Mars had fulfilled his prophecy.  What then could Venus be doing, for had she not promised success to Palamon?

A moment!  My story is not ended.  As Arcite rode thus joyously to claim his prize, it chanced that an adder suddenly started from the ground before the horse’s feet; The charger reared and swerved, and Arcite was thrown against the pommel of his saddle with such violence that his breast-bone was broken, and he fell down in a swoon.  He was carried quickly away; but all that night, while feasting and merry-making reigned in the palace, poor Arcite lay dying.  “Alas!” he cried.  “Farewell to you, my lady, my love, my wife won by my prowess.  Farewell to the world and merry company.  I go where man must be alone and cold.  Farewell again, my fairest Emily!” And so with his lady’s name on his lips, he died.

Great was the mourning throughout Athens for so noble a warrior and so true a lover.  His funeral pyre was heaped high with all sweet woods and spices.  All famous Greeks came thither to play in his funeral games.

Men mourned for Arcite for many a long year.  But at last their sorrow spent itself,—­one day Palamon came again to the court of Theseus.

There, with gentle patient wooing, he won at length the hand of Emily, and gained thus his heart’s desire and the reward of his true love of her.

They lived long in richness and health.  Never was fairer wife than Emily; never was knight more faithful than Palamon.  There I leave them.  God bless them, and grant His grace and loving-kindness to this fair company.  Amen.