‘Tis been a while! I’ll be honest, I had some doubts about coming back to this project, but some recent interest and compliments has boosted my motivation again. So, in the last few lines Beowulf was all about himself (ugh), and here are some more lines, where he is still all about himself.
Ic þe nu ða,
brego Beorhtdena, biddan wille,
eodor Scyldinga, anre bene,
þæt ðu me ne forwyrne, wigendra hleo,
freowine folca, nu ic þus feorran com,
þæt ic mote ana ond minra eorla gedryht,
þes hearda heap, Heorot fælsian.
Hæbbe ic eac geahsod þæt se æglæca
for his wonhydum wæpna ne recceð.
Ic þæt þonne forhicge swa me Higelac sie,
min mondrihten, modes bliðe,
þæt ic sweord bere oþðe sidne scyld,
geolorand to guþe, ac ic mid grape sceal
fon wið feonde ond ymb feorh sacan,
lað wið laþum; ðær gelyfan sceal
dryhtnes dome se þe hine deað nimeð.
Wen ic þæt he wille, gif he wealdan mot,
in þæm guðsele Geotena leode
etan unforhte, swa he oft dyde,
“Alright, so look, you’re this great feckin’ lord of these bright Danish lads, and by God, don’t you take care of the Scyldings like nobody, sure you’re popular out, bai! So I just want to ask one thing of you and that’s that you don’t refuse me, cause look, I’ve come a long feckin’ way here now, you know, but give me the pure and utter privilege with my boys, big hardy bunch of them, to cleanse this Heorot gaff. And sure look, I’ve heard, so I have, that this absolute feen of a lad, he’s pure mad like, won’t even use weapons! And so, and Hygelac would be fierce proud of me now for this, wouldn’t he lads, I won’t even use a sword myself or even a broad shield, but I will grab that fucker and fight for my life that way, foe against foe. And it’ll be God above’s judgement then whoever death catches hold of. But I’m tellin’ ya now, I’m expecting that he wants, and by God if he manages it, he’ll ate up every single last bit of the Geatish people in this war-hall, not a bother on him, as he has so often done before to the might of men.