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91 I have ruled this people fifty winters’ tide; Nor is there any folk- king of all who dwell around That durst me touch with sword of his, or me with terrors hound. I bided in my homeland my appointed while; Well mine own I warded; nor practiced feud and wile; Nor sware, I guess, not many broken oaths of guile. Of all of this my joy I have, though ill of wounds within, Since me the God of men may not charge with murdered kin, When life my body leaveth.... Go, now, quick, To look upon the Hoard there under the hoar stone, Wiglaf, beloved.... now the Worm is prone, And sleepeth, reft of treasure-trove, from the sword so sick. Wiglaf, hasten now, that I may once behold These riches of the foretime, these master-stores of gold.... Yea, that once with gladness I may look upon The bright and cunning jewels. For softlier anon, After that golden seeing, I’ll leave behind, I know, My life and the lordship I held from long ago.” |