GERD:
Haste! bid him to my bower with speed,
To quaff unmixed the pleasant mead;
And good betide us; for I fear
My brother’s murderer is near.
Skirner having entered, Gerd thus addresses him:
What are you, elf or asas’ son?
Or from the wiser vanas sprung?
Alone to visit our abode,
O’er bickering flames, why have you rode?