There Lies More Peril

There lies more peril in thine eye than twenty of their swords.
Ha, banishment! be merciful, say 'death;'
For exile hath more terror in his look.
There is thy gold, worse poison to men's souls, doing more murders in this loathsome world.
Shall I believe that unsubstantial death is amorous?
Thus with a kiss I die

Þær lyᵭð mære peril in þīn eage þonne twenti of hiera sweorda.
Ha, banishment! be merciful, secg 'deað;'
For exile hæfð more terror in his locu.
Þær is þīn gold, wyrse poison to manna sawla, dōende more morðras in þissum lǣðan worlde.
Sceal ic gelyfan þæt unsubstantial deað is amorous?
Þus mid āne cyss ic forþiġe