"How long shall we beseech you," / spake Wolfhart the thane;
"Since he that best consoled us / by you now lieth slain,
And we, alas, no longer / his living aid may have,
Grant us hence to bear him / and lay the hero in his grave."
Thereto answered Volker: / "Thy prayer shall all deny.
From out the hall thou take him, / where doth the hero lie
'Neath deep wounds and mortal / in blood now smitten down.
So may by thee best service / here to Ruediger be shown."
Answered Wolfhart boldly: / "Sir Fiddleman, God wot
Thou shalt forbear to stir us, / for woe on us thou'st wrought.
Durst I despite my master, / uncertain were thy life;
Yet must we here keep silence, / for he did bid us shun the strife."
Then spake again the Fiddler: / "'Tis all too much of fear,
For that a thing's forbidden, / meekly to forbear.
Scarce may I deem it valor / worthy good knight to tell."
What said his faithful comrade, / did please the doughty Hagen well.
"For proof be not o'er-eager," / Wolfhart quick replied,
"Else so I'll tune thy fiddle / that when again ye ride
Afar unto Rhine river, / sad tale thou tellest there.
Thy haughty words no longer / may I now with honor bear."