[2] As edited by Krapp and Dobbie in the Anglo-Saxon Poetic Records series, Riddle 60 runs: Ic wæs be sonde, sæwealle neah, æt merefaroþe, minum gewunade frumstaþole fæst; fea ænig wæs monna cynnes, þæt minne þær on anæde eard beheolde, ac mec uhtna gehwam yð sio brune lagufæðme beleolc.
Þæt is wundres dæl, on sefan searolic þam þe swylc ne conn, hu mec seaxes ord ond seo swiþre hond, eorles ingeþonc ond ord somod, þingum geþydan, þæt ic wiþ þe sceolde for unc anum twam ærendspræce abeodan bealdlice, swa hit beorna ma uncre wordcwidas widdor ne mænden.
Few were any of the race of men that beheld my dwelling place in wilderness, for every dawn the dark sea surrounded me with its enveloping waves.
It is somewhat a wonder, complex in the mind, for him who cannot understand such, how the point of the knife and the right hand, man’s intention and the blade, worked me with purpose, so that I would boldly disclose a verbal message for us two alone, so that other men will not know the meaning of our conversation far and wide.
Dulcis amica ripae, semper uicina profundis, Suaue cano Musis; nigro perfusa colore, Nuntia sum linguae digitis signata magistris.