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Bifil that in that seson on a day,In Southwerk at the Tabard as I layRedy to wenden on my pilgrymageTo Caunterbury with ful devout corage,At nyght was come into that hostelryeWel nyne and twenty in a compaignye,Of sondry folk, by aventure yfalleIn felaweshipe, and pilgrimes were they alle,That toward Caunterbury wolden ryde. ...But nathelees, whil I have tyme and space,Er that I ferther in this tale pace,Me thynketh it acordaunt to resounTo telle yow al the condiciounOf ech of hem, so as it semed me,And whiche they weren, and of what degree,And eek in what array that they were inne;And at a knyght than wol I first bigynne."This is the poynt, to speken short and pleyn,That ech of yow, to shorte with oure weye,In this viage shal telle tales tweyeTo Caunterbury-ward, I mene it so,And homward he shal tellen othere two,Of aventures that whilom han bifalle.And which of yow that bereth hym best of alle,That is to seyn, that telleth in this caasTales of best sentence and moost solaas,Shal have a soper at oure aller costHeere in this place, sittynge by this post,Whan that we come agayn fro caunterbury.And for to make yow the moore mury,I wol myselven goodly with yow ryde,Right at myn owene cost, and be youre gyde,And whoso wole my juggement withseyeShal paye al that we spenden by the weye.And if ye vouche sauf that it be so,Tel me anon, withouten wordes mo,And I wol erly shape me therfore."This thyng was graunted, and oure othes sworeWith ful glad herte, and preyden hym alsoThat he wolde vouche sauf for to do so,And that he wolde been oure governour,And oure tales juge and reportour,And sette a soper at a certeyn pris,And we wol reuled been at his devysIn heigh and lough; and thus by oon assentWe been acorded to his juggement.Now we must praise heaven-kingdom's Guardian,the Measurer's might and his mind-plans,the work of the Glory-Father, when he for each of the wonders,eternal Lord, a beginning established.He first created for men's sonsHeaven as a roof, holy Creator;Then middle-earth, mankind's Guardian,Eternal Lord, made afterwardsSolid ground for men, the almighty Lord.Then an old harrower of the darkHappened to find the heard open, The burning one who hunts our barrows, The slick-skinned dragon, threatening the night skyWith streamers of fire. People on the farmsAre in dread of him. He is driven to hunt out Hoards under ground, to guard heathen goldThrough age-long vigils, though to little avail.For three centuries, this scourge of the peopleHad stood guard on that stoutly protectedUnderground treasury, until the intruder Unleashed his fury; he hurried to his lord With the gold-plated cup and made his pleaTo be reinstated. Then the vault was rifled, The ring-hoard robbed, and the wretched manHad his request granted. His master gazedOn that find from the past for the first time.The monster wrenched and wrestled with himBut Beowulf was mindful of his mighty strength,The wondrous gifts God had showered on him:He relied for help on the Lord of All, On His care and favour. So he overcame the foe, Brought down the hell-brute. Broken and bowed, Outcast from all sweetness, the enemy of mankindMade for this death-den. But now his motherHad sallied forth on a savage journey, Grief-racked and ravenous, desperate for revenge.I draw these words from my deep sadness,My sorrowful lot. I can say that, Since I grew up, I have not suffered Such hardships as now, old or new. I am tortured by the anguish of exile. First my lord forsook his familyFor the tossing waves; I fretted at dawnAs to where in the world my lord might be. In my sorrow I set out then, A friendless wanderer, to search for my man. But that man's kinsmen laid secret plansTo part us, so that we should liveMost wretchedly, far from each otherIn this wide world; I was seized with longings.We must hurry nowTo take a last look at the kingAnd launch him, lord and lavisher of rings, On the funeral road. His royal pyreWill melt no small amount of gold:Heaped there in a hoard, it was bought at heavy cost, And that pile of rings he paid for at the endWith his own life will go up with the flame, Be furled in fire: treasure no followerWill wear in his memory, nor lovely womanLink and attach as a torque around her neck-But often, repeatedly, in the path of exileThey shall walk bereft, bowed under woe, Now that their leader's laugh is silenced, High spirits quenched. Many a spearDawn-cold to the touch will be taken down And waved on high; the swept harpWon't waken warriors, but the raven wingingDarkly over the doomed will have news, Tidings for the eagle of how he hoked and ate, How the world and he made short work of the dead.The next morning he went to the reeve, who was his foreman, and told him about the gift he had received. He was taken to the abbess and ordered to tell his dream and to recite his song to an audience of the most learned men so that they might judge what the nature of that vision was and where it came from. It was evident to all of them that he had bene granted the heavenly grace of Gad. Then they expounded some bit of sacred story or teaching to him, and instructed him to turn it into poetry if he could. He agreed and went away. And when he came back the next morning, he gave back what had been commissioned to him in the finest verse. Therefore, the abbess, who cherished the grace of God in this man, instructed him to give up secular life and to take monastic vows. And when she and all those subject to her had received him into the community of brothers, she gave orders that he be taught the whole sequence of sacred history. He remembered everything that he was able to learn by listening, and turning it over in his mind like a clean beast that chews the cud, he converted it into sweetest song, which sounded so delightful that he made his teachers, in their turn, his listeners. He sang aHeavenly grace had especially singled out a certain one of the brothers in the monastery ruled by this abbes for he used to compose devout and religious songs. Whatever he learned of holy Scripture with the aid of interpreters, he quickly turned into the sweetest and most moving poetry in his own language, that is to say English. It often happened that his songs kindled a contempt for this world and a longing for the life of Heaven in the hearts of many men. Indeed, after him others among the English people tried to compose religious poetry, but no one could equal him because he was not taught the art of song by men or by human agency but received this gift through heavenly grace. Therefore, he was never able to compose any vain and idle songs but only such as dealt with religion and were proper for his religious tongue to utter. As a matter of fact, he had lived in the secular estate until he was well advanced in age without learning any songs. Therefore, at feasts, when it was decided to have a good time by taking turns singing, whenever he would see the hard getting close to his place, he got up in the middle of the meal and went home. Once when he left the feast like this, he went tPrey, it's as if my people have been handed prey. They'll tear him to pieces if he comes with a troop. O, we are apart. Wulf is on one island, I on another, A fastness that island, a fen-prison.Fierce men roam there, on that island'They'll tear him to pieces if he comes with a troop.O, we are apart. How I have grieved for my Wulf's wide wanderings. When rain slapped the earth and I sat apart weeping, When the bold warrior wrapped his arms about me, I seethed with desire and yet with such hatred. Wulf, my Wulf, my yearning for you And your seldom coming have caused my sickness, My mourning heart, not mere starvation."Order my troop to construct a barrowon a headland on the coast, after my pyre has cooled.It will loom on the horizon at Hronesnessand be a reminder among my people -so that in coming times crews under sailwill call it Beowulf's Barrow, as they steerships across the wide and shrouded waters."Then the king in his great-heartedness unclaspedthe collar of gold from his neck and gave itto the young thane, telling him to useit and the warshirt and the gilded helmet well."You are the last of us, the only one leftof the Waegmundings. Fate swept us away,sent my whole brave high-born clanto their final doom. Now I must follow them."That was the warrior's last word.He had no more to confide. The furious heatOf the pyre would assail him. His soul fled from his breastTo its destined place among the steadfast ones.So now, before you fare inlandas interlopers, I have to be informedabout who you are and where you hail from.Outsiders from across the water,I say it again: the sooner you tellwhere you come from and why, the better."The leader of the troop unlocked his word-hoard;the distinguished one delivered this answer:"We belong by birth to the Geat peopleand owe allegiance to Lord Hygelac.In his day, my father was a famous man,A noble warrior-lord named Ecgtheow.So he came to the place, carrying the treasureand found his lord bleeding profusely,his life at an end; again he beganto swab his body. The beginnings of an utterancebroke out from the king's breast-cage.The old lord gazed sadly at the gold."To the everlasting Lord of all,to the King of Glory, I give thanksthat I behold this treasure here in front of me...Then he saw a blade that boded well,A sword in her armory, an ancient heirloomFrom the days of the giants, an idealWeapon.In off the moors, down through the mist bandsGod-cursed Grendel came greedily loping. The bane of the race of men roamed forth, Hunting for a prey in the high hall.Under the cloud-murk he moved towards itUntil it shone above him, a sheer keepOf fortified gold. Nor was that the first timeHe had scouted the grounds of Hrothgar's dwelling-Although never in his life, before or since, Did he find harder fortune or hall-defenders.Spurned and joyless, he journeyed on aheadAnd arrived at the bawn. The iron-braced doorTurned on its hinge when his hands touched it.Then his rage boiled over, he ripped open The mouth of this building, maddening for blood, Pacing the length of the patterned floorWith his loathsome tread, while a baleful light, Flame more than light, flared from his eyes. He saw many men in the mansion, sleeping, A ranked company of kinsmen and warriorsQuartered together. And his glee was demonic, Picturing the mayhem: before morningHe would rip life from limb and devour them, Feed on their flesh; but his fate that night Was due to change, his days of ravening Had come to an end.Then Gawain was giddy with gladness, and declared,"For this more than anything I thank you thoroughly.Now my sight is set, and I'll stay in your serviceuntil that time, attending every task."The lord squeezed Gawain's arm and seated him at his side,and called for the ladies to keep them company.There was pleasure aplenty in their private talk:the lips of the lord ran wild with words,like the mouth of a madman, not knowing his own mind.Then speaking to Gawain, he suddenly shouted:"You have sworn to serve me, whatever I instruct.Will you hold to that oath right here and now?""You may trust my tongue," said Gawain, in truth,"for within these walls I am servant to your will."The lord said warmly, "You were weary and worn,hollow with hunger, harrowed by tiredness,yet you joined in my reveling right royally every night.You relax as you like, lie in your beduntil mass tomorrow, then go to your mealwhere my wife will be waiting; she will sit at your sideto accompany and comfort you in my absence from court.So lounge:at dawn I'll rise and rideto hunt with horse and hound."Then a bench was cleared in that banquet hallSo the Geats could have room to be togetherAnd the party sat, proud in their bearing,Strong and stalwart. An attendant stood byWith a decorated pitcher, pouring brightHelpings of mead. And the minstrel sang,Filling Heorot with his head-clearing voice,Gladdening that great rally of Danes and Geats.In front of a flaming fireside a chairwas pulled into place for Gawain, and paddedwith covers and quilts all cleverly stitched,then a cape was cast across the knightof rich brown cloth with embroidered borders,finished inside with the finest furs,ermine, to be exact, and a hood which echoed it.Resplendently dressed he settled in his seat;as his limbs thawed, so his thoughts lightened.Soon a table was set on sturdy trestlescovered entirely with a clean white clothand cruets of salt and silver spoons.In a while he washed and went to his meal.Staff came quickly and served him in stylewith several soups all seasoned to taste,double helpings as was fitting, and a feast of fish,some baked in bread, some browned over flames,some boiled or steamed, some stewed in spicesand subtle sauces to tantalize his tongue.Then she who desired to see this strangercame from her closet with her sisterly crew.She was fairest amongst them—her face, her flesh,her complexion, her quality, her bearing, her body,more glorious than Guinevere, or so Gawain thought,and in the chancel of the church they exchanged courtesies.Grendel was the name of this grim demonhaunting the marches, marauding roundthe heathand the desolate fens; he had dwelt for atimein misery among the banished monsters,Cain's clan, whom the Creator hadoutlawedand condemned as outcasts. For thekilling of AbelCain got no good from committing thatmurderbecause the Almighty made himanathemaand out of the curse of his exile theresprangogres and elves and evil phantomsand the giants too who strove with Godtime and again until He gave them theirReward.Cars are affordable in 1920s (true/false)They went to sleep. And one paid dearlyFor his night's ease, as had happened to them often, Ever since Grendel occupied the gold-hall, Committing evil until the end came, Death after his crimes. Then it became clear, Obvious to everyone once the fight was over, That an avenger lurked and was still alive, Grimly biding time. Grendel's mother, Monstrous hell-bride, brooded on her wrongs. She had been forced down into fearful waters, The cold depths, after Cain had killed His father's son, felled his ownBrother with a sword. Branded an outlaw, Marked by having murders, he moved into the wilds, Shunned company and joy. And from Cain there sprangMisbegotten spirits, among them Grendel, The banished and accursed, due to come to gripsWith that watcher in Heorot waiting to do battle.
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