And hither I’m come with my sworn brother Frey,
To make thee of ravens the food.
I’ll take hold of thy arms and thy coal-black hair,
And Frey of thy heels behind,
And thy lustful body to atoms we’ll tear,
And scatter thy limbs to the wind.
O spare me, Frey, thou great-souled king!
And, weeping, he kissed his feet;
O mercy, and thee I’ll a courser bring,
No match in the wide world shall meet.