FINN. And the Danes killed him at Oslo-fiord?
BIORN. Ask any child of five, if you know not that.
FINN. So Knut Alfson was the last of our knighthood? And now he's dead and gone! (Holds up the helmet.) Well then, hang thou scoured and bright in the Banquet Hall; for what art thou now but an empty nut-shell? The kernel—the worms have eaten that many a winter agone. What say you, Biorn—may not one call Norway's land an empty nut- shell, even like the helmet here; bright without, worm-eaten within?
BIORN. Hold your peace, and mind your work!—Is the helmet ready?
FINN. It shines like silver in the moonlight.
BIORN. Then put it by.—— —— See here; scrape the rust off
the sword.
FINN (turning the sword over and examining it). Is it worth
while?
BIORN. What mean you?
FINN. The edge is gone.
BIORN. What's that to you? Give it me.—— —— Here, take the shield.