It is then that Lug said:
I may look small next to you, but I am the one who will choose the day of your death.
And Balor replied:
Now I see that in the germ of the seed that I planted lies the form of my own destruction.
It is so, for you grew your own death
Then Lug spoke the words of banishment.
May death by my sword be fitting for you.
You were summoned by my will,
by my craft, and the craft of my father’s people.
Evil be to the Fomoire wolf-packs
Evil under floods, under deep seas,
Under the waves, away with you! Begone, under flood-waves, taking no more than your two hands can carry.
You will not take from us corn or grain, green or growing.
You will keep no honour price, no fame or fortune.
No! Woe to you! Woe be upon you!
Clumsy Bachlach, you will not bring an end to our world.
I shall bring forth a wave-swell of raven-heavy sea to overwhelm you.
You will take nothing from me.
You cannot hurt me.
You could not battle-injure my body, not even if you cleaved it into pieces, drawn down beneath the multitudinous waves.
A beaten body is a blemish, and I will remain always unblemished.
It is you who will be dragged drowning down into the flooding sea.
You cannot hurt me, for it is I who summon
swiftness of wind
showers of fire
howling of dragons
sternness of lions
It is I who summon
The shining sun
The radiant moon
I am Lug
A lynx’s wit
A sword for a druid
Under the waves, away with you, Begone!
From the translation of Isolde Carmody
Read the original text with Isolde’s translation here.