Hear then!
The song that I of myself can sing.
No shame to speak of humble birth
When deeds can show no moral dearth
East Geat? Ever!
Beast Geat? Never!
Ceorl who flung the dung from stable
Glad of scraps from masters table
Ceorl to fetch, and ceorl to carry
Reason scant by coast to tarry
Wandered abroad – the sum of my stuff
War axe and breech-clout – ‘twere heaven enough!
Came to serve, defending in fight
The Wisest eyeless Arkenbright
War-shield rewarded for bull-save by night
And so to ventures, in each passing fight
Somehow surviving and growing in might
Human the foemen, more oft the foe-wight
Merelings, pukelmen draugr and Thurse
Worse than the shamble-wights, sickening, mad
Men – aye and women – gone to the bad
Slaying their own or their gesith as kine
For dryten to foster their purpose malign
Loathsome the haegtesse, Ghastly her acts
Small band of geatlings grim in her wake
Sworn to for Edward a reckoning make
Through many days faring, in many a hall
The lytleman stood forth and gifted for all
And brave the companions he finally led
Into her dene o’er her creatures struck dead
Cast down her power, and set her slaves free
Once more in Gefndene shines bright the day
In good Goddess Gefion’s kindly sway
And he that now rules there the best that he can
Thegn Osgar by friends hight the Lytleman