No more did they speak, | the mead was made ready,
Soon the men were gathered | with mighty uproar.
[72]. Thus bitterly planned she, | and Buthli’s race threatened,
And terrible vengeance | on her husband would take;
The little ones called she, | on a block she laid them;
Afraid were the proud ones, | but their tears did not fall;
To their mother’s arms went they, | and asked what she would.
Guthrun spake:
[73]. “Nay, ask me no more! | You both shall I murder, [[526]]
For long have I wished | your lives to steal from you.”