‘Brunhild, I know not whether temperate
The heart of woman ever is, but thine
Is all too quick, too passionate, untamed,
Too rash in the pursuit of its desire,
Too heedless of the motion of thy friends.
Fredegonde feared and hated thee, but force
Constrained her unto patience for a time:
Since Gondovald had threatened her with war
If she should harm thee, and her forces were
Disheartened, and the land weighed down with dearth,