My lord has gone, has fled away
Over the sea, the break of day.
Found me crying for a prince
Who had left all at once.
They plotted together his kith and kin
They met in secret and made a
plan, to keep us far apart, away
From each other, night and day.
I sing this poem full of grief,
Full of sorrow about my life,
Ready to leave that cruel state
Which I've endured both early and late.

And so at last my noble lord,
Strapped on his shield and drew his sword.
Two great deeds he has done,
Two dreadful battles fought and won,
To achieve a third great victory
He fought the dragon for you and me.
Fearless he stood against flame and smoke
(He isn't just some ordinary bloke).
He slashed the dragon's horrendous head
And hacked again till it lay dead.
But the dragon lashed out
with claws and tail
And pierced through Beowulf's
protective mail,
His ancient armour fell apart
And the wound went deep into his heart.
A third great victory he has won,
But now Beowulf, our king, is gone.