Of Ægir’s hospitable board,
But grief he’ll force thee to express
To-morrow for each sland’rous word.
LOK.
Hold thy tongue, Frigga! Asgard’s queen!
From scratching, pain oft follows strait;
Like the queen bee, with many a mate,
But with no king is Frigga seen.
Not sparing of thy charms art thou,
By zephyrs pleas’d to be carest;