Anglo-Saxon Riddles of the Exeter Book/Annotated/50

50 (k-d 35)

Me the wet ground,     exceeding cold, first brought forth     from within itself. Neither am I wrought     of woolen fleece nor of hairs, with skill;     I know it in my mind. I have no winding wefts     nor any warp in me; nor with strong rods     does the thread resound for me, nor the whirring shuttle     move across me, nor the weaver’s rods     anywhere smite me. Worms do not weave me     with fatal wiles which fairly adorn     the fine yellow web. Yet nevertheless     the wide world over one will call me a joyful     garment for heroes. Say now truly,     you cunning sage, learned in language,     what this garment may be.

10

Mec se wæta wong     wundrum freorig of his innaþe     ærist cende ne wat ic mec beworhtne     wulle flysum hærum þurh heahcræft     hygeþoncum min · wundene me ne beoð wefle     ne ic wearp hafu ne þurh þreata geþræcu     þræd me ne hlimmeð ne æt me hrutende     hrisil scriþeð ne mec ohwonan     sceal amas cnyssan wyrmas mec ne ā wæfan ·     wyrda cræftum þa þe geolo godwebb     geatwum frætwað wile mec mon hwæþre seþeah     wide ofer eorþan hatan for hæleþū     hyhtlic gewæde · saga soðcwidum     searoþoncum gleaw wordum wisfæst     hwæt þis ge wædu sy

In short, a Coat of Mail—woven, but not of wool or of silk. Weaving is suggested, yet with a series of exclusions to show that the thing is not what you would at first suppose.