Ne biþ him tō hearpan hyġe, ne tō hringþege, ne tō wīfe wyn, ne tō worulde hyht, ne ymbe ōwiht elles, nefne ymb ȳða ġewealc, ac ā hafað longunge sē þe on lagu fundað.
His mind is not for a harp, nor for a gift of ring, nor for a wife’s mirth, nor for world’s hope, nor about anything else, unless about the rolling of waves, but he always has a longing, the one who rushes onto the sea.