Whereas of the might of my craft were they cunning;
For they saw me when came I from out of my wargear,
Blood-stain'd from the foe whenas five had I bounden,
Quell'd the kin of the eotens, and in the wave slain
The nicors by night-tide: strait need then I bore,
Wreak'd the grief of the Weders, the woe they had gotten;
I ground down the wrathful; and now against Grendel
I here with the dread one alone shall be dooming,
In Thing with the giant. I now then with thee,
O lord of the bright Danes, will fall to my bidding,