I saw my friends sweat. With mattocks and axes in their trembling hands. And I filled my lungs and spoke:

“Listen, brothers! The intruders shall be driven out to sea again! Then we’ll live as we used to.
The Danish scoundrels have pillaged farms along their way to Visby, they have murdered and desecrated Gotland, stolen our peace!
Listen! Ripping the Danish rider off of his saddle at Fjäle bog was child’s play. A pleasure feeling the sword entering between the plates of his armour. Ha! How he was deceived about his fancy cuirass. Let us show them the price of attacking the island of the Gotlanders.
Tomorrow is a new day. We shall see the sun rise, eat, drink and be merry!”

So I spoke. And drove my brothers into death.