Grendel. That was a good king.
The famous king, hero of old days, by his good deeds, by giving splendid gifts made sure that later in life beloved companions will stand by him, that people will serve him when war comes.
Then the fierce spirit Beowulf he who dwelt in the darkness, with sword-hate and murderous rage fiercely killed a kin of Cain.
Horrible fear came upon the bad breeds, trolls and elves and monsters- they painfully endured hardship for a time.
Grendel spoke, unbound words of contention- “It is a sorrow to me in spirit to say to any what Beowulf has brought me with his hatred- humiliation, violence.”
The creature deprived of joy came walking into the hall. Each was hateful to the other alive.
Then Grendel took off his shirt of armor, the helmet from his head, handed his embellished sword, best of irons, to Beowulf, bade him tokens of friendship.
Glory in battle was given to Beowulf. Grendel must flee from there, mortally sick, seek his joyless home in the fen-slopes. He knew the more surely that his life’s end had come, the full number of his days.
They said that he was of world-kings the mildest and the gentlest, kindest to his people, and most eager for mercy.