This plant I pluck, O strongest sprout,
by which a wife doth cast her rival down, by which she bindeth her goodman fast unto her.

Thou, whose leaves spread wide, bringer of grace, sped by the gods and filled with conquering strength— blow hence my rival, and make my husband mine alone.

Lo, I rise higher, O thou most high—
higher yet than those who are held most high; but she who shares my bed is cast below, lower than all the lowly ones.

Her name I speak not, nor doth she lie beside this man.
To the farthest bounds we drive her forth, far from our midst.

I triumph, and thou, O herb, art strong to win.
Both strong in victory, together we shall vanquish her.

Upon thee, my lord, I have laid the herb of triumph; I have yoked thee with one yet mightier in conquest.

Let thy thoughts turn toward me as a calf to its dam,
as water to its stream.