Unferth spoke up, Ecglaf his son, Who sat at the feet of the lord of the Scyldings, Opened the jousting (the journey of Beowulf, Sea-farer doughty, gave sorrow to Unferth And greatest chagrin, too, for granted he never That any man else on earth should attain to, Gain under heaven, more glory than he): “Art thou that Beowulf with Breca did struggle, On the wide sea-currents at swimming contended, Where to humor your pride the ocean ye tried, From vainest vaunting adventured your bodies In care of the waters? And no one was able Nor lief nor loth one, in the least to dissuade you Your difficult voyage; then ye ventured a-swimming, Where your arms outstretching the streams ye did cover, The mere-ways 16 measured, mixing and stirring them, Glided the ocean; angry the waves were, With the weltering of winter. In the water’s possession, Ye toiled for a seven-night; he at swimming outdid thee, In strength excelled thee. Then early at morning