2The ribs that compass me give pain and trouble me like rival wives. Indigence, nakedness, exhaustion press me sore: my mind is fluttering like a bird's.

3As rats eat weavers' threads, cares are consuming me, thy singer, gatakratu, me. Have mercy on us once, O Indra, Bounteous Lord: be thou a Father unto us.

4I the priests' Rsi chose as prince most liberal Kurusravana, The son of Trasadasyu's son,

5Whose three bays harnessed to the car bear me straight onward: I will laud The giver of a thousand meeds,

6The sire of Upamasravas, even him whose words were passing sweet, As a fair field is to its lord.

7Mark, Upamasravas, his son, mark, grandson of Mitratithi: I am thy father's eulogist.

8If I controlled Immortal Gods, yea, even were I Lord of men, My liberal prince were living still.

9None lives, even had he hundred lives, beyond the statute of the Gods So am I parted from my friend.