Tribute—gold and silver fine!”

“Go away, my son, from me—

May Litvà[[25]] soon capture thee!”

“Litvà knows me too—I feed

From her tribute, wine and mead.”

“Go away, my son, from me,

May the Tartars soon take thee!”

“Those wild Hordes take, in much fear,

Other roads when I draw near!”

“Go away, my son, from me—