When the famed one found his doom.
[[105]]
[51]. Drunk art thou, Geirröth, | too much didst thou drink,
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
Much hast thou lost, | for help no more
From me or my heroes thou hast.
[a]52]. Small heed didst thou take | to all that I told,
And false were the words of thy friends;
For now the sword | of my friend I see,
That waits all wet with blood.