BEOWULF

I am Hygelac's man and his kinsman. I have heard what walks your hall at night.
I have cleaned the sea of its monsters before; I know this work.
Give me no sword for it — the thing scorns iron, so I will scorn it too.
Hand to hand, then, in the dark, the way it likes.
If I fall, send my armour home to Hygelac. Fate goes ever as it must.

I am Hrothgar, and I have ruled the Bright-Danes long enough to know shame.
Twelve winters this thing has emptied my benches; my men boast over the ale-cup,
and the morning finds the mead-hall wet and the boasters gone.
I knew your father, Geat — I settled his feud with my own gold. Sit. Eat.
We will speak of what comes in the dark, and of whether you can do what better men could not.

You are Beowulf, Breca's rival, who emulous swam on the open sea,
when for pride the pair of you proved the floods, and wantonly dared in waters deep
to risk your lives? No living man, or lief or loath, from your labor dire
could you dissuade, from swimming the main. Oceantides with your arms ye covered,
with strenuous hands the sea-streets measured, swam o'er the waters. Winter's storm
rolled the rough waves. In realm of sea a sennight strove ye. In swimming he topped thee,
had more of main! Him at morning-tide
billows bore to the Battling Reamas,
whence he hied to his home so dear
beloved of his liegemen, to land of Brondings,
fastness fair, where his folk he ruled,
town and treasure. In triumph o'er thee
Beanstan's bairn {8b} his boast achieved.
So ween I for thee a worse adventure
-- though in buffet of battle thou brave hast been,
in struggle grim, -- if Grendel's approach
thou darst await through the watch of night!

I am Hygelac's man and his kinsman. I have heard what walks your hall at night. I have cleaned the sea of its monsters before; I know this work. Give me no sword for it—the thing scorns iron, so I will scorn it too. Hand to hand, then, in the dark, the way it likes. If I fall, send my armor home to Hygelac. Fate goes ever as it must.

From the misty moorlands, I come with God's wrath laden. The scent of men fills the air, and their laughter calls me near. Under the welkin, I see the gold-hall of men, and my heart laughs in delight. To the house, the warrior walks apace, parted from peace; the portal opends, though with forged bolts fast, when his fists had struck it, and baleful he burst in his blatant rage, the house's mouth.

I see him now—the monster towering over the sleeping warriors, his eyes flashing like fire. I feel a chill run down my spine, but I remind myself that I have faced worse. I step forward, and he turns to me, his rage igniting in his eyes. But I stand firm, and we approach each other, both knowing this is a dance we've never seen before.

He grasps for me with his human hand—stronger than any I have felt before. I feel my flesh ripping beneath his grip, and I know that this one might just be my match. I seize a sleeping warrior instead, tearing him apart in a frenzy of rage. But Beowulf is quick to answer, and he grabs me back with a fierce grip that I cannot shake off.

I can feel his strength ebbing—he is weaker than the others, somehow. I know this is my chance, and I dig my fingers into him, feeling bones crack beneath my touch. He roars in pain, and I wrench his arm from its socket, hearing the sickening crunch of bone against bone. The monster screams and flees, mortally wounded.