And sleepeth sore wounded, beshorn of his treasure;
And be hasty that I now the wealth of old time,
The gold-having may look on, and yarely behold
The bright cunning gems, that the softlier may I
After the treasure-weal let go away
My life, and the folk-ship that long I have held.
[ XXXVIII. BEOWULF BEHOLDETH THE TREASURE AND PASSETH AWAY.]
Then heard I that swiftly the son of that Weohstan
After this word-say his lord the sore wounded,
Battle-sick, there obeyed, and bare forth his ring-net,