God prosper long our noble king,
Our liffes and safetyes all;
A woefull hunting once there did
In Chevy-Chace befall.
There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland
Ionne Armstrong men did him call
He had nither lands nor rents coming in
We often read and written find,
as learned men do us remind,
Glasgerion was a kings owne sonne,
And a harper he was goode;
He harped in the kings chambere,
Where cuppe and caudle stoode,
Here Edward king, lord of the English,
sent his soul strong in truth to Christ,
in God's safekeeping, his holy spirit,
AS we lay musing in our beds,
So well and so warm at ease,
I thought upon those lodging-beds
This warldly joy is only fantasy,
Of quhich non erdly wicht can be content;
Quho most has wit, lest suld in it affy,
HROTHGAR spake, the Scyldings'-helmet: --
"For fight defensive, Friend my Beowulf,
to succor and save, thou hast sought us here.
Thy father's combat a feud enkindled
Lully, lully; lully, lulley;
The fawcon hath born my mak away.
He bare hym vp, he bare hym down;
He bare hym into an orchard brown.