Now this is my first counsel,
  That thou with thy kin
  Be guiltless, guileless ever,
  Nor hasty of wrath,
  Despite of wrong done --
  Unto the dead good that doeth.

  Lo the second counsel,
  That oath thou swearest never,
  But trusty oath and true:
  Grim tormenting
  Gripes troth-breakers;
  Cursed wretch is the wolf of vows.

  This is my third rede,
  That thou at the Thing
  Deal not with the fools of folk;
  For unwise man
  From mouth lets fall
  Worser word than well he wotteth.

  Yet hard it is
  That holding of peace
  When men shall deem thee dastard,
  Or deem the lie said soothly;
  But woeful is home-witness,
  Unless right good thou gettest it.
  Ah, on another day
  Drive the life from out him,
  And pay the liar back for his lying.

  Now behold the fourth rede:
  If ill witch thee bideth,
  Woe-begatting by the way,
  Good going further
  Rather than guesting,
  Though thick night be on thee.

  Far-seeing eyes
  Need all sons of men
  Who wend in wrath to war;
  For baleful women
  Bide oft by the highway,
  Swords and hearts to soften.

  And now the fifth rede:
  As fair as thou seest
  Brides on the bench abiding,
  Let not love's silver
  Rule over thy sleeping;
  Draw no woman to kind kissing!

  For the sixth thing, I rede
  When men sit a-drinking
  Amid ale-words and ill-words,
  Dead thou naught
  With the drunken fight-staves
  For wine stealeth wit from many.

  Brawling and drink
  Have brought unto men
  Sorrow sore oft enow;
  Yea, bane unto some,
  And to some weary bale;
  Many are the griefs of mankind.

  For the seventh, I rede thee,
  If strife thou raisest
  With a man right high of heart,
  Better fight a-field
  Than burn in the fire
  Within thine hall fair to behold.

  The eighth rede that I give thee:
  Unto all ill look thou,
  And hold thine heart from all beguiling;
  Draw to thee no maiden,
  No man's wife bewray thou,
  Urge them not unto unmeet pleasure.

  This is the ninth counsel:
  That thou have heed of dead folk
  Whereso thou findest them a-field;
  Be they sick-dead,
  Be they sea-dead,
  Or come to ending by war-weapons.

  Let bath be made
  For such men fordone,
  Wash thou hands and feet thereof,
  Comb their hair and dry them
  Ere the coffin has them;
  Then bid them sleep full sweetly.

  This for the tenth counsel:
  That thou give trust never
  Unto oaths of foeman's kin,
  Be'st thou bane of his brother,
  Or hast thou felled his father;
  Wolf in young son waxes,
  Though he with gold be gladdened.

  For wrong and hatred
  Shall rest them never,
  Nay, nor sore sorrow.
  Both wit and weapons
  Well must the king have
  Who is fain to be the foremost.

  The last rede and eleventh:
  Until all ill look thou.
  And watch thy friends' ways ever
  Scarce durst I look
  For long life for thee, king:
  Strong trouble ariseth now already.