Make me a bull above my peers, far-winner o’er my foes, striker of mine enemies, wide-ruling lord of kine.

I am a smiter of foes, like Indra—unharmed, unshaken.
Beneath my tread lie all who rose against me; behold, they are already trodden down.

Here do I bind thee, as the bow’s ends are bound by the string.
O Lord of Tongues, cast these low, that their speech be beneath mine own.

I have come aloft, standing firm on Viśvakarman’s frame.
Thy thought, thy will, thy gathered folk—I claim them for mine own.

Thy yoke of war and thy treaty of peace I have taken for myself; may I be lifted as the highest of all.

Thy head is beneath my step—
lift now thy voice from below, as frogs from the waters leap— as frogs from the waters leap.