But Thor in the shape of a gull dived down,
And the salmon he caught with his beak:
“Thou knave,” quoth he, “well I knew ’twas thee;
Thou shalt bitter rue thy freak.
“I’ll break and pound every bone of thine,
As the mill-stone pounds the corn.”
Now Lok, resuming his shape divine,
His mischief affects to mourn:
“Why this rage?” quoth he, with humble prayer?
“By slaying me where’s thy gain?