Þa stod þeofmann on stæðe, stiðlice clypode
se on beot abead, brimliþend.
"Me sendon to þe, bongáras snelle
heton ðe secgan, þaet þu most senden raðe
beagas wið gebeorge; and eow betere is
þæt ge þisne garræs, mid gasfole forgyldon
þon wa swa hearde, hilde dælon"
Amos maþeloda, héafod hafenode.
"Hwæt! Morsceam hearm.
Wit wile healhean, eþel þysne,
Grellus eard, ealdres Reodholt
folc and foldan. Feallan sceolon
níðingas aet hilde."
Biter waes se beaduræs, beornas feollon
Reodholt befæstan.
Then there the bandit stood on the bank and fiercly called out
he announced in a boast to the seafarers
"Bold killers have sent me to you.
They command me to tell you that you must quickly send
rings in return for protection; and it will be better for you
that you buy off this storm of arrows with a tribute
than that we should take part in such a hard battle."
Amos made a speech, head held high.
"Listen here, evil, cowardly bandit.
We defend this native land,
the country of Grellus, Redwoods's Lord,
people and ground. You wretched
outlaws will fall in battle."
Bitter was the rush of battle. Warriors fell.
Redwood was made safe.