Less good than they say for the sons of men is the drinking oft of ale:
for the more they drink, the less can they think and keep a watch o'er their wits. 

A bird of Unmindfulness flutters o'er ale feasts, wiling away men's wits:
with the feathers of that fowl I was fettered once in the garths of Gunnlos below. 

Drunk was I then, I was over drunk in that crafty Jötun's court.
But best is an ale feast when man is able to call back his wits at once. 

Not great things alone must one give to another, praise oft is earned for nought;
with half a loaf and a tilted bowl I have found me many a friend. 

In thy home be joyous and generous to guests
discreet shalt thou be in thy bearing,
mindful and talkative, wouldst thou gain wisdom, oft making me mention of good.

A fool will gape when he goes to a friend,
and mumble only, or mope;
but pass him the ale cup and all in a moment
the mind of that man is shown.

'Tis time to speak from the Sage's Seat;
hard by the Well of Weird
I saw and was silent, I saw and pondered,
I listened to the speech of men.

Cattle die and kinsmen die,
thyself too soon must die,
but one thing never, I ween, will die, --
fair fame of one who has earned. 

Now the sayings of the High One are uttered in the hall for the weal of men, for the woe of Jötuns,
Hail, thou who hast spoken! 
Hail, thou that knowest!
Hail, ye that have hearkened! 
Use, thou who hast learned!