2Forward to us the drops, distilling meath, shall flow, like riches for whose sake we urge the horses on. Beyond the crafty hindering of all mortal men may we continually bear precious wealth away.

3Yea, yerily, foe of hate shown to himself is he, yea, verity, destroyer too of other hate. As thirst subdueth in the desert, conquer thou, O Soma Pavarnana, men of evil thoughts.

4Near kin to thee is he, raised loftiest in the heavens: upon the earth's high ridge thy scions have grown f orth. The press−stones chew and crunch thee on the ox's hide: sages have milked thee with their hands into the streams.

5So do they hurry on thy strong and beauteous juice, O Indu, as the first ingredient of the draught. Bring low, thou Pavamana, every single foe, and be thy might shown forth as sweet and gladdening drink.