Lokasenna - Nidingr

Talk of weapons and might in war

You are swollen with pride

Bale and hatred i bring for you

O sons of the glorious gods

Ithun you are of women most lustful in love

Since thy washed-bright arms did wind about

Your brothers slayer

Ægir

No such feast shall you make no more

Over all you have which is here within

Shall play the flickering flame

Though on the rocks the gods bind me

With bowels torn

Forth from my frost-cold son

I was first and last

I mix their mead with venom

I Wolf-Father