The tardy-at-battle returned from the thicket, The timid truce-breakers ten all together, Who durst not before play with the lances In the prince of the people’s pressing emergency; But blushing with shame, with shields they betook them, With arms and armor where the old one was lying: They gazed upon Wiglaf. He was sitting exhausted, Foot-going fighter, not far from the shoulders Of the lord of the people, would rouse him with water; No whit did it help him; though he hoped for it keenly, He was able on earth not at all in the leader Life to retain, and nowise to alter The will of the Wielder; the World-Ruler’s power Would govern the actions of each one of heroes, As yet He is doing. From the young one forthwith then Could grim-worded greeting be got for him quickly Whose courage had failed him. Wiglaf discoursed then, Weohstan his son, sad-mooded hero, Looked on the hated: “He who soothness will utter Can say that the liegelord who gave you the jewels, The ornament-armor wherein ye are standing, When on ale-bench often he offered to hall-men Helmet and burnie, the prince to his liegemen, As best upon earth he was able to find him⁠—