Her coarse white locks, her shrivell’d skin
Announced extreme decrepitude:
To pity much did Thor incline,
When such a fragile form he view’d.
“It is not fit,” the Asa said,
“That thou shouldst cope with me before
Thou hast a cup of juice essay’d,
Whose fruit grows in Valhalla’s bower.”
Now from a hole within his shield
He took a fruit of luscious taste:[34]