Fair the fight be reckoned;
As king, the first blow belongs to thee,
Mind thou, mine's the second.

"Caught at last is the wily fox,
Vain all thought of flying;
Think of her with the golden locks,
Of Framness wasted lying."

Thus he spake, and the purse he'd brought,
Forth he quickly drew it,
Careless of the mischief wrought,
In Helge's face he threw it.

Darkness swam before the eyes
Of asas' kinsman sainted;
Blood gushed forth, he could not rise,
But near his altar fainted.

"With the gold you as tribute claim,
Are you overpowered?
None shall Angervadil blame
For felling such a coward.

"Silence, priests with altar-knives,
Moonshine princes, quiet!
Else my sword may drink your lives;
Thirsting 'tis to try it.

"Holy Balder, thy wrath forbear,