iddle 15 Ic eom mundbora      minre heorde,   I guard a full flock of old treasures   eodorwirum fæst,      innan gefylled   In a belly bound by wires. Sometimes   dryhtgestreona.      Dægtidum oft   I spit forth death-spears by day   spæte sperebrogan;     sped biþ þy mare   And slay more surely, the fatter my belly.   fylle minre.      Freo þæt bihealdeð, 5 Sometimes I swallow battle-weapons, 5 hu me of hrife fleogað     hyldepilas.   Dark-gleaming spears, arrows that ache,   Hwilum ic sweartum     swelgan onginne   And snakelike points. My belly is great   brunum beadowæpnum,     bitrum ordum,   In its death-bright hoard, dear to proud warriors   eglum attorsperum.     Is min innað til,   Who may remember what I thrust through my mouth.   wombhord wlitig,     wloncum deore; 10     men gemunan     þæt me þurh muþ fareð.       solution