Without the blast inclement roars,
But here ’tis snug in Ægir’s hall.
Indulging in your evening feast
Fill’d with bright ale each drains his horn:
Despised is the unbidden guest,
But your contempt he laughs to scorn.
“With haughty glances towards the ground,
To answer Lok ye all disdain.
The slave of Ægir I have slain,
His cook for science so renown’d: