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Deare thankes to thee Modor for derke comfortes of childhood;
The meere ever merry thogh of money we had litel.
Aye a body on our bord, whos neck thou brokest thyself,
Thogh it ment walking in wyld wynter for thee
To kill a hapless warrior unhelped by his helm.
From neighbors nasty thou didst protect me,
And other demon-childer thou donkedst on the hede
Whan thei made fun of my funkyie-lookinge fingers,
The hard hand spurs that Ic of Dad’s DNA had.
Whanne Ic waxed had VI yeeres and wanted a partye,
You hyred the huge serpents who hover yn the lake –
With their grim jaws thei gave flight to the guests
(Foolish Dane childer who, cake-lured, dyede):
With wynsome joye Ic watched that riot of razor-teeth.
No partye for a prince koud boaste swich a pettinge zoo,
Or swich fearsome pinatas that in candyes place heeld payne!
Ic would liefer lyve with thee in the layres of darkness
And step the steep borders in the silent hills
Than dwell in the dearest hall that men deck
Wyth streamers and candles on Christesmasse tyde.
Wylde Geats koud nat get me to go oon step thee-from!
Merry Modors-daye, Modor, from Grendel, thy sone.
отсюда: http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/2010/05/grendel-to-his-modor.html
The meere ever merry thogh of money we had litel.
Aye a body on our bord, whos neck thou brokest thyself,
Thogh it ment walking in wyld wynter for thee
To kill a hapless warrior unhelped by his helm.
From neighbors nasty thou didst protect me,
And other demon-childer thou donkedst on the hede
Whan thei made fun of my funkyie-lookinge fingers,
The hard hand spurs that Ic of Dad’s DNA had.
Whanne Ic waxed had VI yeeres and wanted a partye,
You hyred the huge serpents who hover yn the lake –
With their grim jaws thei gave flight to the guests
(Foolish Dane childer who, cake-lured, dyede):
With wynsome joye Ic watched that riot of razor-teeth.
No partye for a prince koud boaste swich a pettinge zoo,
Or swich fearsome pinatas that in candyes place heeld payne!
Ic would liefer lyve with thee in the layres of darkness
And step the steep borders in the silent hills
Than dwell in the dearest hall that men deck
Wyth streamers and candles on Christesmasse tyde.
Wylde Geats koud nat get me to go oon step thee-from!
Merry Modors-daye, Modor, from Grendel, thy sone.
отсюда: http://houseoffame.blogspot.com/2010/05/grendel-to-his-modor.html