Faint-mooded stumbled, till he fell in his traces, Foot-going champion. Then she sat on the hall-guest And wielded her war-knife wide-bladed, flashing, For her son would take vengeance, her one only bairn. His breast-armor woven bode on his shoulder; It guarded his life, the entrance defended ’Gainst sword-point and edges. Ecgtheow’s son there Had fatally journeyed, champion of Geatmen, In the arms of the ocean, had the armor not given, Close-woven corslet, comfort and succor, And had God most holy not awarded the victory, All-knowing Lord; easily did heaven’s Ruler most righteous arrange it with justice; Uprose he erect ready for battle.