I will say this of myself:
For some time I was the Heodenings’ poet,
Dear to my lord, my name was “Deor.”
For many years I had a good position,
And a loyal lord until now that Heorrenda,
The man skilled in song, has received the estate
That the warriors’ guardian had given to me.
That went by, so may this.
That’s it. That’s the great tragedy. He was fired, laid off, given the boot; that’s the equivalent of all of these other heroic tragedies. Mass murder, imprisonment, torture, tyranny, unwanted pregnancy from a rape … all of that is easy, but losing his job? Now we’re talking disaster.