Nidingr Lokasenna
Talk of weapons and might in war
You are swollen with pride
Bale and hatred i bring for you
O sons of the glorious gods
Ithun you are of women most lustful in love
Since thy washed-bright arms did wind about
Your brothers slayer
Ægir
No such feast shall you make no more
Over all you have which is here within
Shall play the flickering flame
Though on the rocks the gods bind me
With bowels torn
Forth from my frost-cold son
I was first and last
I mix their mead with venom
I Wolf-Father