Eleven apples here I hold,
Gerd, for you, of purest gold;
Let this fair gift your bosom move
To grant young Frey your precious love.
GERD:
Eleven apples take not I
From man as price of chastity:
While life remains, no tongue shall tell
That Frey and I together dwell.
SKIRNER:
Gerd, for you this wondrous ring,
Burnt on young Balder's pile, I bring,
On each ninth night shall other eight
Drop from it. all of equal weight.
GERD:
I take not, I, that wondrous ring,
Though it from Balder's pile you bring:
Gold lack not I, in Gymer's bower;
Enough for me my father's dower.
SKIRNER:
Behold this bright and slender wand,
Unsheathed and glittering in my hand!
Refuse not, maiden! lest your head
Be severed by the trenchant blade.
GERD:
Gerd will ne'er by force be led
To grace a conqueror's hateful bed;
But this I trow, with main and might
Gymer shall meet your boast in fight.
SKIRNER:
Behold this bright and slender wand,
Unsheathed and glittering in my hand!
Slain by its edge your sire shall lie,
That giant old is doomed to die.
