Who is the man so shrewd and sage can say who sends me forth abroad, when I rise strong, severely stern with might resound, malicious move, fare over land, the folk-hall fire, houses spoil? Then smoke upsoars, grey over roofs; riots rules on earth; death-throes wrack men; I disturb the wood, quick-growing grove, its trees lay low, with water roofed, by potent powers despatched to drive wide in my wandering. I bear upon my back what erst enfolded forms of earth-sojourners – flesh and spirits both together- on the sea. Say who shelters me or what my name is who that burdens bears.



Sometimes I set off, as men suppose not, neath turbulent surges, to seek  out the earth, the depths of the ocean. Disturbed is the main, the foam upflung; the whale-mere roars, loud rages then; streams lash the shore, savagely cast shingle and sand upon the steep slopes, seaweed and wave, when struggling, I, screened by sea-currents, the bottom stir up, the vast ocean-deeps. Nor may the sea-surface I scape ere the One who’s my guide suffers me on every excursion.

Guess, erudite man, who gathers me up from the grasp of the sea, when the surges grow still again, placid the waves, which covered me once.



A wight in wonderous wise saw I hale booty ‘tween her horns, a radiant air-vat, artfully adorned, forage homewards from the fray; she would a bower in that stronghold build herself, with cunning it contrive, if so she could.

Then came a wonderous wight above the rampart’s roof to all earth-dwellers is he known who snatched the soil and homewards drove the wanderer against her will. Thence went she west faring from the feud, hastened forth.

Dust to the skies uprose; upon the ground fell dew; night departed thence.

Thereafter no man wist where those wights journeyed to.



Wonderous came floating a wight on the wave aft; from the keel comely it called to the land, resounded; its laughter was grim, on the earth fearful; its edges were sharp. Hatefully cruel was it, in conflict quite sluggish, in battle- deeds bitter. With baleful charms bound, it cunningly discoursed of its own creations: “My mother is of the kindred of maidens the dearest, my daughter is she, with travel grown gross, that is well-known of old to me of the folk, that she shall upon earth gloriously stand in lands everywhere.”



Writings say this wight has many years among mankind clear and plain.

A power it has much more than men might comprehend. It strives to seek each one apart of those that live, then goes its way. ‘Tis never there a second night, but ever must the exile’s track rove homeless; none the humbler ‘tis.

Neither foot nor hand has it, nor even touches turf, nor either of its eyes, nor has it mouth, nor speaks with men, nor has it wit; but writings say that it is quite the basest of all beings that after nature were begat.

Nor has it soul, nor life, but makes its way, this wonderous world through,  far and wide. Neither blood nor bone has it; yet it becomes to many men throughout this world an aid. It never heaven touched, nor may it hell,but it forever must by God’s injunctions live. Too long it is to tell how its life-pattern later ‘twill pursue, fate’s crooked ways; that is a wondrous thing to chronicle. True then is each word told about this wight; nor has it any limb, yet nonetheless it lives. If thou canst rede this riddle rapidly with true words, say what it is called.



Wondrous into the world’s a warrior brought by two mute beings for the use of men; brightly extracted which, for his hurt, bears foe against foe.

Oft strong though he be a women him binds; to them he bends well, passively serves them, if him they attend, maidens and men, in adequate measure fairly him feed; he exalts them with favours in life for their glee.

He grimly requites the one that allows him lofty to grow.



1 – Storm on Land.

2 – Submarine Earthquake.

29 – Sun and Moon.

33 – Ship.

39 – Hypostasized Death.

50 – Fire.





Me, the wielder of victories, Christ, for conflict created. Oft burn I the quick, races unnumbered, ranged over the earth, torment with trouble, though them I touch not, whenever my master to battle bids me.

Sometimes the mood of the many I gladden; sometimes I solace those I once assaulted from very far off; they feel it, however, the hurt and the healing,  when afterwards I favour their fortunes, despite deep affliction.



Grey is my garment; ornaments bright, red and resplendent, my raiment adorn.

The dull I misguide and the ignorant goad to ventures imprudent; yet others prevent from useful approaches; I wot not a whit why they, maddened thus,  bereft of their wits, led astray in their deeds, should then applaud my contrary ways. Woe to them for their conduct when the Most High dispenses the dearest of gifts, if they from their folly do not desist first.



A noble one I know that was nurtured as a guest in that dwelling, who cannot by grim hunger be harmed, nor yet by hot thirst, nor old age, nor sickness. If him, as is seemly, the servants attends, ever he who shall go along on that journey, he safety at home shall find him decreed, both food and delight, and unnumbered kindred; but care, if the serf obeys his lord badly, his prince on the trip. Nor will they be timid of each other, the brothers; that injures them both, when they both together abandon the bosom of their kindred quickly, their mother and sister. Let whoever will, in fitting words, set forth how that guest is called, or the servant, about whom I speak at this time.



I heard a ring for heroes plead, beautiful tongueless, well, though with loud voice it wove.

This treasure of men silently spoke:  “Healer of souls, do Thou heal me!” May the rune of the red gold men understand, its magic import; may the prudent entrust their redemption to God just as the ring said.



I saw in the hall, where heroes were drinking, borne onto the floor, a thing of four kinds, a wonderful wood-tree, with gold that was twisted, a subtly- bound treasure, silver in part, and a rood-symbol which for us to the heavens a ladder erected, ere the people of hell’s castle he stormed. I can of that wood’s excellence easily speak before men; maple and oak were there and the tough yew and the dark holly; they are to the lord all together of help; one name have they: Wolf-head Tree.

Oft that afforded a weapon its lord, in the hall a precious heirloom, a gold-hilted sword. To me now this riddle’s answer reveal; himself here quites who. With words, can declare what that wood is called.



Greater am I than this word world is, lesser than the handworm, lighter than the moon, swifter than the sun. All the seas and floods are in my grasp, and then bosom of earth, and the green plains. I probe the depths, descend below hell, rise over the heavens, the region of glory; amply I reach above the angels’ abode, pervade the earth, the whole world and ocean-streams widely with myself. Say what I’m called.



6 – Sun

11 –Wine

43 – Soul and Body

48 – Chalice

55 – Scabbard and Cross

66 – Creation





Hushed is my garb, when I tread on the ground, or sorjourn in creeks, or the shallows stir up. Over men’s homes there heave me sometimes my trappings, and this tulmultous wind, and widely the might of the welkin me then bears over mankind. These adornments of mine loudly resound and melody make; lustily sing, when I am not lying on flood and on field – a wayfaring sprite.



Through my moth I speak with many tongues; with modulating chant, I often change my voice; I cry loud, my manner hold, not hide the melody. Old evening bard, to men I bring bliss in towns, when I transform my tone to sing out; still at home they silent sit.

Say what I’m called, who, brightly thus, buffoons do imitate aloud, to men announce with my voice many welcome things.



In those days they abandoned me for dead, father and mother both; not yet in me was life or stir within. Then someone tried to cover me with clothes, a  woman kind; watched and cherished, wrapped me in a robe as gently as she would her proper progeny, until beneath her breast, as was my destiny, I grew a stranger, strong amid those not my kin. That tender fostress fed me afterwards till I waxed sound. More widely could set forth on trips; the fewer of her own had she, dear sons and daughters, due to what she did.



Ten in all the turf saw I tread, brothers six and their sisters too; beings that were alive. Their skins hung from their house-wall, clear and manifest, every one. Nor were any of them the worse, nor their going the sorer, though they should thus, bereft of their raiment, by the firmaments’ Lord’s might aroused, rend with their mouths the grey-green shoots. Their garment’s renewed who before birth their accoutrements leave behind them to lie when they tread upon land.



Small sprites this wind sustains over the hillsides. Quite bright are they, black dark-coated. Doughty of song, they fare in flocks; loudly they cry; the head-lands they tread, sometimes the houses of the children of men. They name themselves.



7 – Swan.

8 – Jay.

9 – Cuckoo.

13 – Ten chickens.

57 – Swallows.





I fare on feet the turf tear up, the green plains, while I spirit bear. If I lose life, I bind secure the swart Welsh, sometimes better men. Drink I sometimes give a bold man from my bosom; me, at times, a bride treads proudly underfoot; fetched from afar, at times, the dark-haired slave conveys and squeeze me;  the foolish drunken servant maid on darksome nights, in water wets me, sometimes warms me fair beside the fire; in my bosom thrusts her wanton hands, revolves them frequently, sweeps me in the dark. Say what I’m called, who, living ravage land and, after death, administer to men.



White is my neck and tawny my head, so too are my sides. Swift in motion am I who bears battle-gear. Under my back stand hairs such as those on my cheeks.

Tower two ears over my eyes. I tread on my toes in the green grass. For me is

there grief if anyone within my covert catch me, a warrior grim, where I hide in my haunt, my lair with my litter; and there do I lurk with my recipient brood when the intruder comes up to my doors; for them death is doomed. So must my off-spring I from our abode faint-hearted bear, protect them by flight, if he should come following close after me; a-crawl on his breast. I dare not abide his fierce deeds in my den that were ill counsel but then must I fast with my forefeet a  passage provide through the high hill. I can easily save the lives of my loved ones if I be allowed my household to lead by a hidden route through a hole in the hill,  my kinsfolk and dear ones; later I need not a whit the encounter dread with the death-whelp. If the savage adversary along a straight path pursues me behind, he shall surely not lack the conflict of battle on his hostile course when I reach through the roof of the hill and with war-darts strike wildly the malignant foe whom I long fled.



A wight

of the weaponed kind saw I greedy of youthful joys; a gift he gave of four life-saving springs to shoot forth brightly, gush in fitting form. A man spoke, who declared t me:  “This wight, if he survive, will break the downs; if burst asunder, will the living bind.”



12 – Oxhide

15 – Badger

38 – Young Bull




My Thane must I busy from time to time, ring-bound, readily obey, destroy my rest and noisily declare my master gave me a band for my neck. Me oft the sleep-weary maiden or man hastes to greet; hostile towards him I wintry-cold answer: “A warm  limb the bound ring bursts sometimes!”  However, ‘tis sportive unto my servant, a half-witted man, to me likewise, when one knows aught and so with words my riddle can rightly give answer to.



My nose inclines downwards; deeply I fare and dig up the grounds; I move as he guides me, the grey foe of the forest and my overseer, who double-bent goes, the guide at my tail. He drives, urges, presses me into the plain, sows in my swath. I go sniffing the ground, brought from the grove, bound strong, borne on the wain. Many wounds have I; on one side of me, as I go, there is green; and, on the other, my swath is clear swart. Through my back driven, there hangs underneath an ingenious point, on my head yet another; fixed and prone. At the side falls what I tear with my teeth, if rightly he serves me from behind, who my master is.



I saw a wight, in the dwellings of men, that feeds the cattle. It has many teeth; the beak is gainful, downwards it goes, ravages faithfully and then returns home; wanders along walls, reaches for roots; always it finds those that are not firm; the fair ones it leaves fixed by their roots in their station still standing, brightly gleaming, blooming and growing.



One I know stands settled, deaf and dumb, who, oft by day, devours gifts greedily, the slave’s hand from. Sometimes in the dwellings the dark-hued thane, dusky and dun-faced, despatches others down its gullet, dearer than gold, which the noble-born desire oft, kings and queens. Its nature yet now I will name not, who to them is thus of use, and does good, what the dumb one here, the swarthy nitwit, swallows first.



I was in there when I something saw: wood wound a struggling wight, the moving beam; battle-hurts it took, deep scars. Spears were that wight’s woe, and cunningly the wood was fast bound. One of its feet was fixed; the other laboured busily, played aloft, nigh the land sometimes. Nearby was a tree that brightly stood with leaves adorned. I saw the rest for my lord, where warriors drank, of arrow-work, borne to the hall.



A “one-footed” wight I know to work with fortitude in the fields. It fares not far, nor rides much; nor can it fly during the bright day, nor does it bark, a boat with nailed boards, bear it; yet it is often of use to its lord. It has a heavy tail, a tiny head, a long tongue, no tooth. Of iron, in part, it treads the pit. Nor swallows liquid, not eats aught, it craves not food; yet oft it conveys water aloft. Ir brags not of life, of the lord’s gifts; nonetheless, it obeys its master. In its name there are three real runes of which RAD is the first.



Alive I was, but I said naught; even so I die. Ere I had been, back I returned. Everybody reaves me, keeps me confined, and shears off my head, my bare body bites, breaks my sprouts. I bite no man, save he bites me; many there are who do bite me.



My head is with a hammer forged, with sharp tools wounded, smoothed with files. I often stare at what is stuck before me, hard against hard; pierced from behind, I forward shove that which my lord’s mind holds the midnight pleasure of. My beak I sometimes backwards draw when the hoard’s herd, my lord, desires, their leavings to keep whom he ordered from life to be driven, at his will, by battle-craft.



4  –  Bell

21 – Plough

34 – Rake

49 – Oven

56 – Weaver’s Loom

58 – Draw-Well

65 – Onion

91 – Key




A certain foe reft me of life, deprived me of my worldly strength, then moistened me, dipped me in water, later took me thence, set me in the sun where I soon lost the hairs I had. Then me the hard knife’s edge cut, ground away the dross; fingers folded me, and the fowl’s delight throughout with drops made tracks abundantly, across the brown brim, absorbed the tree-dye, a part of the stream, on me stopped again, dark brown traces left. Then, me enwrapped, with boards, a man, spread skin across, with gold geared me; so beautified me the wondrous work of smiths, with wire engirt. Now the embellishments and the red dye and the precious possessions make famous afar the Guardian of Nations, not the pains of conceit. If the children of men are willing to use me, the sounder will they be and surer of triumph, the bolder the heart, and the blither in thought. The wiser in life, the more friends will they have, dearer and closer, truer and better, nobler and stauncher, who their glory and wealth will gladly increase; and, with goodness and kindness surround them; and, with loving embraces close clasp them. Ask what I am called, useful to men. My name is renowned, salvation to heroes, and sacred myself.



Moth devoured words. That seemed to me a fate remarkable, when of that marvel I was told, that the worm, a warrior’s song had swallowed up, a felon in the dark, the famous utterance and its strong place. The pilfering stranger was no whit the wiser, though he ate the words.



I saw four creatures splendidly travel together; black were their tracks, their marks quite swart. Swiftly was its course as of fast fowl; it flew through the air, dived under the wave. Unceasing, laboured the struggling warrior who shows them the way, all of the four over the plated gold.



26  –  Bible Codex

47  –  Book Moth

51  –  Pen and Three Fingers





This world is in varied wise beautiful, jewel bedecked. I saw a strange thing sing in the hall; in nature, among men, was naught to compare, for a most curious form it had. its beak inclined downwards, bird-like its feet and hands; yet, it cannot fly, nor wander at will. Still eager for movement, it starts to advance, with chosen craft; it frequently turns, again and again, among men who sit at the banquet-board, bides its time till it can reveal its craft before men who nigh. It partakes of naught that the men that are there possess for their glee. Dauntless, eager for glory, dumb it remains; yet, in its foot, it has a fair melody, glorious song-gift. Wondrous methinks how this wight can with words play through its foot underneath, with trappings adorned. It holds on its neck, as it guards its hoard, bare resplendent with rings, its brothers two, kinsmen strong. Great ’tis to think, for a wise singer, what this wight be.



Wondrous that wight is when its ways are not known. It sings through its sides. Curved is its neck, cunningly wrought; two shoulders its fate when it spine. It follows its fate when it stands by the way, wondrously so, high and bright-hued, of profit to men.



31  –  Bagpipe

70  –  Shepherd’s Pipe




Alone-stepper I, wounded with steel, stricken with sword, sated with battle-work, weary of blades. Oft I behold war, a wicked foe fight. I took not for comfort, that out of the struggle come safety to me, ere among heroes I perish utterly; but the hammered blades smite me; the hard-edged sharp swords, the skilled craft of smiths, a more hostile encounter. Not one of the leech-kind could I find in the city of those who with herbs healed hurts, but my sword-scars grew greater with death blows by day and night.



The guardian of the flock am I, with wires fast engirt and filled within with lordly wealth. By day most oft spear-dread I spit abroad; success is the greater for my surfeit. The master this beholds, how the war-darts from my womb emerge. Sometimes I swallow swart brown battle-gear, bitter points, deadly poisoned darts. My innards are of use, my womb-hoard pretty, precious to proud warriors; men remember what fares through my mouth.



Dgof” is my name reversed; a wondrous wight am I, in struggle shaped. When I bend and from my bosom fares the poisoned dart, I am disposed to fling that deadly evil far from me. When the master who designs that misery for me, my limbs releases, I am no longer than before, until with ruin blent, I retch the baleful bane I swallowed earlier. It leave no man, not any, lightly, that of which I speak; If that which flees my womb touch him, that deadly drink he pays for with his strength, a full atonement firmly with his life. When unstrung, I list to none, unless bound cunningly. Say what I’m called.



Ye the wet earth, wondrous frore, first brought forth from the womb. I am not wrought of the fleece of wool or of hairs with high skill; that I know in my mind. Woofs are not wound round me, nor have I warp, nor through the threat of force does thread of mine resound, nor whirring shuttle move across me on any side. Worms move me not with fatal wiles which fairly adorn the fine yellow web. Yet widely over the world will they call me the glad garment of heroes. Tell me in true speech, o thou skilled in sagacity, wise in words, what this dress may be.



5  –  Shield

17  – Ballista

23 – Bow

35 – Mail-Shirt




A weaponed warrior was I. now enwraps me the proud young home-dweller with silver and gold, carved twisted wires. Sometimes men kiss me; sometimes with song I summon to battle kind comrades; sometimes the steed bears me over the breakers, bright with ornaments; sometimes a maid fills my ring-adorned bosom; sometimes I must on the boards, hard and headless, lie stripped; sometimes hang, decked with treasures, fair on the walls, where warriors drink; a noble war-weapon. Heroes sometimes bear me on horseback; then I must breath draw from my bosom, gleaming with gold; sometimes with my voice I summon warriors proud to wine; sometimes I must from foes rescue spoil, with my tongue, rout plundering robbers. Ask what I am called.



I am an Aethling’s shoulder-supporter, a warrior’s comrade, loved of my lord, a king’s companion. Me sometimes, his queen, white-locked, her hand lays upon, a nobleman’s daughter, though well-born she be. Sometimes I ride upon a proud steed at the head of the army; harsh is my tongue. Often the poet reward for his words I give after his lay. My manner is good and I myself sallow. Say what I am called.



14  –  Horn

80 – Horn





My beak was fettered close, and I the current neath, the flood that under flowed, the primordial streams deep sunk, grew in the sea, wrapped by the waves above, alone, my body nestling up to barks. All alive was I, when from the clasp I came of sea and ship, in bright gear clad; my trappings white in part, living, when the air raised me aloft, from the wave, bore widely afterwards across the seal’s-bath. Say what I am called.



Oft must I wage war do battle with both, when I set off to seek the earth, buried by billows; strange is the land to me. Strong in the struggle am I, if they stay still; if in that I succeed not, they are stronger than I away would they carry what I would keep safe. Them I withstand, if my tail still endures and strongly against me the stones are well able to hold fast. Ask what I am called.



Sixty men together came to the seashore riding steeds; eleven of the horsemen had stately steeds, four white. The champions could not cross the mere, as they discovered, for the flood was deep, the wave’s press dire, the edges steep, the currents strong. Commenced to climb the wagon then, the warriors, and their horses too, loaded underneath the pole; a cob then led away the steeds and proud men with their ashen spears, the wagon over the water’s home to land; yet, neither ox drew it, nor asses’ might, not sturdy steed; nor did it swim the flood, nor crawl upon the ground beneath its guests, nor did it stir the sea, nor fly aloft, not turn back; yet, it brought the warriors on the wave and their steeds with them the sheer shore from, so that they stepped upon the other bank, brave ones, men from the main and their steeds sound.



A favourite of men am I, found far and wide, from groves fetched and from city-slopes, from dales and from downs. By day was I borne aloft upon wings, wafted with skill under the shelter of roofs. Later by men was I bathed in a butt. Now a binder am I and scourge; straightway I cast to earth a youth, an old man, at times. Soon he discovers who disputes with me and struggles against my strength, that he on his back must fall flat to the ground, if he flees not his folly before. Robbed of his strength, though hold of speech, deprived of his might, nor mastery of mind has he, nor feet, nor hands. ask what I call myself who thus binds servants to the soil, foolish after fighting, by the light of day.



A part of the soil is prettily swathed in the sternest and sharpest and grimmest of men’s gains, cut, cleaned, turned, dried, bound, wound, bleached, weakened, adorned, arrayed, carried away to the doors of men. Delight is within for sentient beings; it stays, delays, among those who living a long while before savour their pleasures and speak not against it; and then after death fall to declaiming with manifold mouthings. ‘Tis much to determine for wise men what that wight be.



This world is in varied wise beautified, jewel bedrocked. I saw this creature turn, marvellous in motion, grind against the gravel, fare groaning. Nor sight nor hands had this wondrous wight, nor shoulders nor arms; on one foot it had to move, the strange one, stir strongly, fare over fields. Ribs it had many; midway its mouth was set. Useful to men, provision in plenty, to people it brings,  bears food within, and renders to folk tribute each year which all enjoy, rich and poor alike. Relate if thou canst, skilled in wise words, what this wight be.



A warrior sat at wine with his two wives and his two sons and daughters two, sisters fond, and their two sons, goodly first-born; there the father was of both these noble ones and each an uncle and a nephew. Five in all were sitting there of men and maids.



Carried into the house saw I captives under the hall-roof, the hardy pair that were fellows, with shackles straight together were fettered fast. Close to one of them was a dark-skinned slave who curbed both in their course with bonds confined.



I was a young virgin, a fair-haired woman and peerless warrior at the same times; I flew with fowl and swam in the flood, dived neath the wave, and was dead among fish, and stepped upon land, a living soul had.



My home is not hushed, nor I myself loud; … for us two the Lord ordained our passage together; I’m swifter than he, stronger at times, he the more steadfast. Sometimes I rest whereas he must run on. Ever I dwell in him while I endure; if we two divide, for me death is destined.



A creature came where warriors sat in council, many wise in mind; two ears and one eye had it, two feet and twelve hundred heads, back and belly and two neck and two sides. Say what I am called.



10  –  Goose Barnacle

16  –  Anchor

22  –  Circling Stars

27  –  Mead

28  –  Harp

32  –  Ship

46  –  lot and his Family

52  –  Flail

74  –  Siren

85  –  Fish and River

86  –  One-eyed Garlic Seller




I am a wonderous wight: I vary my voice: at times I bark like a dog, at times I bleat like a goat, at times I cry like a goose, at times I yell like a hawk, at times the grey eagle I imitate, the sound of the war-bird; at times the kite’s speech to my mouth is familiar, at times the mew’s song, where I sit glad. G names me, likewise a and R; O helps H and I. now am I named as these symbols clearly show.



Two curious creatures saw I openly indulge outside in sexual love; the white-locked took, beneath her weeds, if that work prospered, proud, a virgin’s fill. I can, upon the floor, with runic letters, warriors tell, men who understand books, both those creature’s names. There shall NYD be in each of two, and the excellent AESC one on the line, of AC two, of HAEGL likewise. Which key’s skill was it unlocked the chains of that hoard’s gates which the riddle from rune-men wisely held, hid in their heart with cunningly-contrived bonds? Now is revealed to warriors at their wine how those wights with us the mean-minded pair, are called.



I saw w and I over the field fare, bearing B E; for both on that trip was H and A the holder’s delight, a share of such strength. TH and E rejoiced; F and A flew over EA S and P of that folk itself.



24  –  Magpie

42  –  Cock and Hen

64  –  Man on Horseback with Hawk




Ondrous a wight am I, to women a joy; to neighbours of use; I injure none in cities that dwell, save slayers alone. Lofty my state, I stand over the bed, shaggy somewhere below. sometimes attempts, handsome and young, a peasant’s vile daughter, proud virgin, to take possession of me; rushes on me, red, plunders my head, fast fixes on me. Straightway she feels what meeting me means, when she molests me, the curly-haired woman. Wet is that eye.



The wight saw I: behind it was its womb dilated huge. A thane attacked it, a mighty man, and much had he endured when through its eye what filled it flew. It does not always die when it must yield its vital to another, but there comes again reward into its bosom, breath returns; a son it generates; its very father ’tis.



Upon the husband’s thigh it splendid hangs, the consort’s cloak beneath. An orifice in front. Stiff and hard it is and has a goodly stand; when his own dress the youth lifts up above his knee, he likes that well-known hole his hangar’s head to greet, so that he fill it whole as once he often did.



I’ve heard of something wax in a corner, swell and erect itself, raise up its covers; fondled that boneless thing the bride proudly with hands, hid with her garment, the sovereign’s daughter, that swelling thing.



Walking a youth came to where he knew she stood in a corner; towards her he strode, a lusty bachelor; lifted her own garment with his hands, thrust under her girdle something inflexible as she stood there; wrought his desires; together they trembled. Hastened the thane, useful at times. A capable servant, he tired nonetheless, with every respite, though robust before, weary of that work. To wax then began beneath her girdle what good man oft heartily cherish and purchase with coin.



The fair maid oft immures me fast, within a chest; the woman me withdrew sometimes with her own hands and gave me to her lord, her gracious prince, as she was bid. Then thrust he deep his head into me upwards from below, into that narrow part. If the strength of that attack availed, adorned as I was there should fill me something rough. Guess what I mean.



I’am hard and sharp, in entry strong, departure bold, deserving of my lord, the womb I enter from below, myself the way rightly enlarge. The hero is in haste, who from behind belabours me, the champion, with his dream; he draws me out at times into the narrow part somewhere; he presses hard, the southern man. Say what I’am called.



25  –  Onion

37  –  Bellows

44  –  Key

45  –  Dough

54  –  Churn

61  –  Mail-Shirt

62  –  Poker