She wrapt them up in the linen fair,
And took them beneath her cloak with care.
She took them beneath her cloak with care,
And them to her mother she straightway bare.
“My dearest mother, no longer grieve,
The babes of your son in your arms receive.”
“Has Mettelil forth these little sons brought?
Then my dark Runes have availed nought.
“Air and earth I have spelled, save the spot alone,
The little spot, my chest stood upon.
“Oh I enchanted have as wide
As she could either walk or ride.
“I have enchanted both earth and wood,
Save the spot whereon my chest it stood.”
No sooner she the words had said,
Than proud Mettelil on the place was laid.
And when she had come where stood the chest,
Straight of two sons was she released.
That Sir Peter’s mother so mortified,
Full quickly of rage and spite she died.