From telling us about Grendel’s head in the hall to telling us about the existence of the dragon.

Beowulf spoke, the son of Ecgtheow: “Lo, son of Healfdene, prince of the Scyldings, we have joyfully brought you this sea-booty, which you gaze on here, as a token of glory. I hardly survived it, hazarded an undersea battle, engaged in a risky task. The fight would soon have been finished if fate had not protected me. I could not accomplish anything with Hrunting in the conflict, though that weapon is strong; but the Allfather granted that I saw a beautiful, powerful sword hanging on the wall. I drew that weapon in battle. Then I slew the guardians of the house in that moment as occasion presented itself. That battle-sword then burned up, that patterned blade, as the blood sprang out, hottest of battle-sweat. I brought the hilt from there as a trophy, avenged the evil deeds, the death-agony of the Danes, as was fitting. I promise you that you may sleep in Heorot free from care with your band of warriors, and each of your thanes, of the tried and true, of the young and old; you need not, prince of the Scyldings, fear for them death-harm from that side, as you did before.”

Then the golden hilt, the ancient giant-work, was given into the hand of the aged warrior, the hoary battle-chief. After the demise of the devils, the work of wondrous smiths passed into the possession of the prince of the Danes; when the fierce-hearted one had fallen, guilty of murder, and his mother too, it passed to the keeping of the best of earthly kings between the seas, of those who gave out treasure in the Northlands.

Hrothgar spoke - he looked at the hilt, the old heirloom, on which was written the origin of ancient strife, when the flood, the rushing ocean, destroyed the giant-race for they had behaved defiantly. Likewise on the sword-guard of bright gold it was rightly marked in rune-letters, set down and stated for whom that sword, best of irons, had first been made, with twisted hilt and dragon-ornament [dragon! a foreshadowing?].

Then the wise son of Healfdene spoke - all fell silent: “He who does what is truth and right among the people, remembering everywhere the long past, an old guardian of the land, may say that this earl was born to be noble. Your glory is exalted throughout the wide ways, Beowulf my friend, your fame over every people. You hold it all with patience, your might with prudence of mind. I will fulfill our friendship as we spoke before. You shall be a lasting comfort to your people, a help to warriors. Not so was Heremod to the sons of Ecgwela, the Honor-Scyldings. He did not grow up for their well-being, but for slaughter and the death-plague of the Danish people. In his rage he killed his table-companions, his close retainers, until he went alone, the famous chieftain, away from human joys. Though the Gods had exalted him in the joys of strength and power, raised him up over all men, yet there grew a blood-thirsty spirit in his breast. He gave no rings to the Danes as was proper so that he suffered misery in the struggle, long-lasting affliction for his people. Learn from this, understand manly virtues. I, old in winters, tell you this tale for your sake. [still, he is giving advice to Beowulf and recommending doing what is right]

It is a wonder to say how the mighty gods distributes wisdom, land and nobility to mankind. Sometimes they allow the thoughts of a famous man of a noble kin to turn to affection; they gives him earth-joys in his homeland, a sheltering city of men to hold, puts regions of the world under his sway, a wide empire, so that he himself may not imagine, in his folly, any end to it. He dwells in plenty; illness and old age do not hinder him at all, no wicked sorrow darkens his mind, no strife or feud appear anywhere, but all the world turns to his will. He knows no worse state until arrogance grows and flourishes within him, while the watchman sleeps, the guardian of the spirit. That slumber is too deep, bound up in cares; the slayer is very near who shoots cruelly from his bow. Then he is hit in the heart, beneath his armor, with a bitter arrow - he cannot protect himself from the perverse commands of the accursed spirit. What he has long held seems too little to him; he covets angrily, never proudly gives gold rings, and he forgets and neglects the future state, because he had previously been granted the throne.

In the end it comes to pass that the failing body falls doomed. Another fills his place who joyfully distributes treasure, the earl’s ancient wealth, cares not to remember it. Guard yourself against such malicious evil, dear Beowulf, best of men, and choose that better part, eternal gains. Care not for pride [twice now, Beowulf is told not to go after fame and pride], glorious champion! Now the flowering of your strength is but for a while; soon it will come to pass that sickness or sword will sever your strength from you, or the embrace of fire, or the surge of flood, or the cut of a sword, or the flight of a spear, or wretched old age; or else the clear light of your eyes will fail and grow dark: it will suddenly come to pass, great warrior, that death will overpower you.

Thus I, Ring-Danes’ king, have ruled for fifty winters over the people and secured them against many pagan nations with spears and swords, so that I feared no rival under heaven’s expanse. How all that changed for me in my homeland, my joy turned to grief, after Grendel, my enemy of old, invaded my hall. I continually suffered great sorrow of heart because of that persecution. Therefore thanks be to the gods that I have lived to see with my own eyes this bloody severed head after the old war-evil. Go now to your seat, enjoy the feast, you who are distinguished in battle, and we shall share many treasures when morning comes.”

The Geat was glad in heart, went immediately to sit, as the wise one bade. Then once again a fair banquet was made ready, as on previous days, for the courageous ones sitting in the hall. The helm of night grew dark over the noble warriors. The whole company arose; the grey-haired one, the aged Scylding, wished to go to his bed [third time now this is mentionned]. The Geat, the brave shield-warrior, desired rest exceedingly. Soon a hall-thane guided the traveller, weary of his adventure, come from afar, treated him with such courtesy as a sea-weary man might hope for in those times. The great-hearted one rested; the hall towered on high, spacious and gold-adorned. The guest slept within until the black raven, gladdened by the sky’s canopy, bode the joy of heaven.

Then the bright sun came hastening from the south. The warriors hurried, eager to set out on their journey back to their people; the bold-spirited one wished to seek his ship far from there. The hardy one bade the son of Ecglaf to carry Hrunting, to bring the precious sword, thanked him for lending him that weapon and said he considered the war-friend a good one, mighty in battle - he did not criticize the sword’s edge at all; he was a noble-minded man [along the line of a good king].

And when the warriors, eager for the voyage, were ready, their chief who was honored among the Danes went to the raised platform where the other was. The hero, bold in battle, greeted Hrothgar.

Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow: “Now we seamen who have come from afar wish to declare that we are hastening back to Hygelac. We have been well entertained here, you have treated us nobly. If I may gain on earth any more of your heart’s love than I have already done, lord of men, I am ready at once for further deeds of war. If I learn over the course of the flood that neighboring peoples oppress you with fear as your enemies sometimes have done, I will bring a thousand thanes, warriors, to help you. I know that Hygelac, guardian of the Geats, young though he is, lord of the people, will support me by word and deed so that I may do you honor and bring to your aid the shafts of spears, the support of strength, when you have need of men. If Hrethric, the prince’s son, decides to visit the Geatish courts, he will find many friends there. It is better for him who desires to do much to visit distant lands himself.”

Hrothgar spoke to him in reply: “The wise Lord sent those words into your mind. I have never heard a man so young in life speak more wisely. You are strong in might and mature in mind, wise in your speech. I expect that if it ever happens that a spear takes Hrethel’s heir, your prince and protector in battle, if savage war or sickness or weapon destroys your lord, the people’s lord, and you have your life, that the Sea-Geats will have no other king better than you to choose as lord and keeper of hoards. I think well of your great spirit, dear Beowulf. You have brought about peace between our peoples, the spear-Danes and the Geats, and a truce for the feuds and strife they have suffered before. While I rule this wide realm, treasures shall be in common between us, many people shall greet one another with good gifts across the gannet’s bath; the ring-necked ship shall bear offerings and tokens of love over the sea. I know the people will be united towards friend and foe, blameless in every way, just as they used to in the olden days.”

Then the protector of earls, the son of Healfdene, gave him twelve gifts in the hall. He bade him visit his own beloved people in safety, come back soon. Then the noble king, the prince of the Scyldings, kissed the best of thanes and embraced his neck. Tears fell from the grey-haired one. Both things were expected, especially the second: that the aged man would never see the other again, that they would never meet again proud in counsel. The man was so dear to him that he could not stop the surging in his heart; but deep in his thoughts, held fast with bonds of the heart, a well of blood boiled inside his breast for the beloved man. From there Beowulf went, a warrior shining in gold, proud of his treasure, trod the grassy earth; he exulted in the booty. The sea-goer awaited its master, who rode at anchor. Then Hrothgar’s gift was often praised on the journey; that was a king blameless in every way until old age seized him, having often harmed many.

Then, the brave men went to the shore, bearing ring-woven mail-coats, intricately linked war-garments. The land-warden who guarded the sea-cliffs noticed their return journey, as he had done before. He did not greet the guests from the edge of the cliff with insults [reminders of their first meeting], but rode towards them, saying the bright-armed warriors were welcome as they went to their ship. Then the spacious ship, the ring-prowed vessel on the sand, was filled with war-gear, with horses and treasures. The mast towered over Hrothgar’s hoard. Beowulf gave the boat-guard a sword bound with gold, so that he was afterwards held in higher honor on the mead-bench because of that treasure and heirloom. Then he took to the water, shoved out on deep waves; forsook the Danish land.

Then a sail, a sea-cloth, was set on the mast. The sea-wood groaned, the wind over the billows did not blast the wave-floater off course. The sea-goer travelled, floated forth foamy-necked, sailed over the swell, the bound prow over the ocean-streams, so that they could see the Geatish cliffs, the known headlands. The keel pushed up, driven by the wind; it stood on land. The harbor-guard was swiftly at the shore, he who had long looked out for the dear men at the sea: he secured the wide-bosomed ship with anchor ropes fast on the sand so that the force of the waves could not drive away the beautiful vessel. He ordered the lord’s treasure, embossed ornaments and beaten gold, to be carried up. They did not have far to go to seek out Hygelac, Hrethel’s son; there at home he dwells by the sea-wall with his comrades, himself and his hall.

The building was splendid; the king, mighty in campaigns, very distinguished. Hygd was very young, wise and honorable, although she had lived few winters within the castle enclosure, the daughter of Hæreth. She was not mean, however, not too grudging of gifts, of treasured possessions, to the Geatish people. But Thrytho displayed monstrous pride, a terrible wickedness. No brave man among the courtiers dared to risk looking at her directly in the daytime with his eyes, except that he might count on deadly fetters hand-woven; having been seized, the sword was quickly ordained for him so that the patterned blade might bring about a clear judgment, make known its violent intent. Such is not a queenly custom for a woman to practice, peerless as she may be, that a peace-weaver should attempt the life of a cherished man out of false grievances. That at least Hemming’s kinsman put a stop to; ale-drinkers spoke differently, that she did fewer wrongs to the people, treacherous attacks, after she was first given, gold-adorned, to the young champion, noble and brave, after she by her father’s counsel journeyed over the fallow flood to seek Offa’s hall. There, on the throne ever since, she had used well her life’s destiny, famous for her good qualities while she lived; she held a high love for the prince of heroes, the best, by all reports, of all mankind between the seas. For Offa was renowned for his generosity and warlike exploits, respected widely. He ruled his homeland wisely. From them sprang Eomer to help warriors, Hemming’s kinsman, grandson of Garmund, skilled in battle.

Then the bold man went with his hand-picked troop to tread the sea-sand, striding the wide shores while the world’s candle shone, hastened from the south. They traveled on with firm courage until they could see the beloved king, the slayer of Ongentheow, young and war-renowned, distributing rings inside the stronghold. Hygelac’s voyage was quickly made known to Beowulf, that there in the court his shield-comrade, alive and well, had come from the battle-play, journeyed to the hall. Room was promptly made, as the strong one commanded, for the foot-guests inside the hall.

He then sat opposite the kinsman who had survived the war, a man with his fellow men, after his lord with courtly speech had welcomed the faithful friend with formal words. Throughout the mead-hall, Hæreth’s daughter poured the sweet drink from the laden cups. Hygelac began to question his comrade courteously in that high hall, curious to know what had chanced on the Geats’ venture: “What befell you on your voyage, dear Beowulf, when you suddenly resolved to seek a fray far away over the salt water, battle at Heorot? Did you at all amend Hrothgar’s widely known woes, that famous prince? I brooded over that journey with troubling fears, pangs of anguish; I had no faith in the adventure of my beloved man. I long begged you not to attack that slaughter-guest, to let the South-Danes settle their feud with Grendel themselves. I thank the gods that I am allowed to see you safe and sound.”

Beowulf spoke, son of Ecgtheow: “It is no secret, lord Hygelac, to many men, the well-known meeting between me and Grendel, what struggle took place on the field where he had caused the Victorious-Scyldings much grief and misery, with everlasting woe. I avenged all that, so that none of Grendel’s kin on earth, however long he lives wrapped in wickedness, need boast of that night-assault with its flare of dawn.

I first came to the ring-hall to greet Hrothgar. Soon the famous son of Healfdene, once he knew my mind, assigned me a seat with his own sons. It was a joyous company. I have never seen greater mead-joy under heaven’s vault among any hall-sitters. At times the great queen, pledge of peace to nations, crossed the entire hall, encouraged the young retainers; often she gave a ring-coil to a man before she went to her seat. Other times Hrothgar’s daughter bore the filled ale-cup to the ranks of earls, those sitting at the far end. I heard those in the hall call her Freawaru as she bestowed the studded treasure. She, young and gold-adorned, is betrothed to the gracious son of Froda. The Friend of the Scyldings has arranged it, the kingdom’s shepherd, and counts on that marriage to settle many feuds and deadly raids. But seldom anywhere, even for a little while, does the fatal spear lie still after a prince falls, even if the bride is worthy.

The lord of the Heathobards may well dislike the alliance, and each of his thanes, when he goes into the hall with the lady, that a noble scion of the Danes, his dagger gleaming, should boast of treasure, heirlooms that the Heathobards once owned while they could still carry weapons, until they led their dear comrades and themselves to disaster on the shield-field.

Then an old spear-warrior who sees the treasure will speak, his mind full of somber memories, will begin to test the mettle of a young champion through the thoughts in his breast, to awaken war-sorrow, and will say this: ‘My friend, can you recognize the blade, the precious sword your father bore to battle, wearing his helmet for the final time, where the Danes slew him and won the field? They had the killing-ground afterwards, when Withergyld lay dead after the fall of heroes. Now here a son of one of those murderers walks the hall, proud of spoils, boasts of that slaughter, and wears the treasure that by right you should inherit.’ Thus at every opportunity he tries to provoke him with wounding words until the time comes that the lady’s thane, for his father’s deeds, sleeps stained with blood after a sword’s stroke, having forfeited his life. But the other escapes with his life, for he knows the land well. Then in both of them the oath-bound men’s sworn pledges will be broken; afterwards in Ingeld surging waves of deadly hate will well up, the love for his wife will cool in him after these seething cares. So I do not hold the Heathobards’ loyalty or the part of their lord’s treaty to be free from betrayal, or their friendship to the Danes to be firm.

But I must still speak on about Grendel, that you may know well, giver of treasures, what the result of the hand-to-hand fight was. After heaven’s jewel glided over the earth, the raging monster, terrible and fierce, charged at us, where we stood guard over the hall unharmed. There deadly assault was launched at Hondscio - his life was forfeit, that fated man; he was the first to perish, a girded champion. Grendel mauled him, that famous kinsman, and devoured his entire body. However, none the sooner did the bloody-toothed killer, bent on destruction, intend to leave the gold-hall empty-handed. But he, strong in might, put his strength to the test, grasped at me with his ready claw. His pouch, huge and strange, hung skillfully fastened by cunning bonds; it was all contrived by the craft of devils, and with dragon-skins. This fierce ravager meant to put me, guiltless, inside there, in with many more, but it could not be done once I stood upright in my anger.

It is too long to recount how I repaid that destroyer of the people for all his evils, my prince, how I honored your kin by my deeds. He escaped my grasp, lived short while; but he left behind his right arm to mark his tracks on Heorot, and humbled, doomed to death, he fell into the mere’s depths. The friend of the Scyldings rewarded me for that battle’s struggle with plates of beaten gold, with many treasures, when morning came and we had sat down to the banquet. There was music and mirth-making. Wise Hrothgar recited many old tales; at times the battle-brave king awoke the harp’s joy, the wood of entertainment, at times he related a lay, a true and tragic one, at times the great-hearted king properly told some wondrous story, at times the white-haired warrior, bound by years, lamented his youth, his battle-strength - his heart swelled within when he, in his old age, recalled the multitude of his days.

Thus we took our joy all day until another night fell on mankind. Quickly thereafter Grendel’s mother was ready to take up her sorrowful journey to avenge her son’s death. She travelled forth, for death had taken her son, the War-Geats’ hate. The monstrous woman avenged her offspring. She slew a warrior with violence. Life departed from Æschere, that wise councilor. Nor could the Danish people, when morning came, burn that lifeless man on a funeral pyre, place his body on the blaze, for she had carried his corpse away in the fiend’s grip under the mountain torrents. That was the most bitter of griefs for Hrothgar, prince of the people. Then the king, weary at heart, by your life bade me perform that hazardous quest, to risk fame in the turmoil of the waters, offer a reward for a noble deed. He pledged me bounty for the deed.

I then, as is widely known, found the grim and terrible guardian of the deep. For a time we fought hand to hand; the mere boiled with gore, and I cut off the head of Grendel’s mother in that war-hall with a mighty sword. I barely got out with my life; I was not yet doomed to die. But afterwards the protector of earls, the son of Healfdene, gave me many treasures.”

So the king acted with due custom. I was paid for my courage, the son of Healfdene rewarded me with plates of beaten gold, gave many treasures into my keeping once I returned home. I’ve brought them to you, warrior king, which I gladly give you. All favor still depends on you; I have few close kinsmen, my king, but you."

Then he ordered them to bring in the boar-framed standard, the battle-helm, the grey mail-coat, the splendid war-sword, and afterwards he spoke this formal speech: “Hrothgar gave me this battle-gear and bade me first to explain his good wishes to you. He said that King Heorogar had it for a long while, the prince of the Scyldings; nevertheless, he did not want to give these breast-adornments to his brave son Heoroward, loyal as he was to him. Enjoy all these treasures well.”

I have heard that four apple-fallow steeds followed the treasure, all alike; he bestowed to him possession of horses and treasures. So should a kinsman act, not weave a cunning snare for another with secret craft, or with malice contrive death for a hand-companion. Hygelac the battle-brave was loyally-minded toward Beowulf his nephew, and each was concerned for the other’s welfare.

I have heard that he presented Hygd with the necklace, that wondrous treasure that Wealhtheow had given him, the prince’s daughter, along with three horses sleek and saddle-bright. Ever after, her breast was adorned by that circlet.

In such a way the son of Ecgtheow behaved with valor, a man renowned for his deeds, acting with honor, not at all slaughtering drunken comrades. His temper was not savage, though he, among mankind, possessed the greatest strength, a gift the gods had sent him. He had been despised for a long time, for the sons of the Geats had not thought him courageous, nor did the lord of the war-hosts wish to bestow many rewards on him on the mead-bench - they firmly believed that he was idle, a feeble prince. A turn of fortune came for the glorious man for all his griefs.

Then the king, the protector of warriors, ordered Hrethel’s heirloom, ornamented with gold, to be fetched; at that time there was no finer treasure among the Geats in the way of a sword. He laid it on Beowulf’s lap; he gave to him seven thousand hides of land, a hall, and a princely seat. Both owned inherited land in the nation, ancestral rights, but the greater right belonged to the one who was higher-born.

It happened later in days to come during the crash of battle, after Hygelac lay dead and war-swords under sheltering shields proved the slayer of Heardred, when the Battle-Scylfings among their armed hosts sought him out, fiercely attacked the nephew of Hereric. The broad kingdom came afterwards into Beowulf’s hands. He ruled it well for fifty winters - then he was a grey-haired king, old guardian of the land - until one began to hold sway in the dark nights, a dragon [powerful last word].