Get ye gone from this place!
Return to your master Morgoth!
We do not want your kind here, #!
Already our soldiers hunt your trail, #!
What are you doing this side of the Girdle?
Do you fear death, #?
Begone, #, and do not return.
We do not want your sort here.
There is no place for foul things like you in this forest.
You foul the earth on which you tread. Let us see that you do no more.
These axes do not only hew branches.
We will meet again in the Halls of Mandos.
Begone, #.
Tell me, how does it feel to die in Doriath?
You will not leave here alive.