The forerunners of the folk did yoke me at the fore, and as ever, I bore Pūṣan close within.

Then all the gods did hedge me round with guard, but lo, a cry was heard: “The one of ill command hath come!”

They scorch me from all sides, as rival wives might bite, or as sore ribs trouble the flesh.

Neglect, nakedness, and weariness press heavy upon me.
Like a restless bird, my mind doth flit hither and thither.

Like mice that gnaw their own tails, so gnaw my cares— and I, thy singer, am thus undone, O thou of a hundred counsels.

Have pity now, O open-handed Indra, and be unto us even as a father.

I chose Kuruśravaṇa, sprung of Trasadasyu’s line, to be my king— he who is most free in gift to those who chant.

I, a seer, have called him lord.

“For he whose chariot is drawn by three tawny steeds and who rideth straight upon the path— him shall I laud at the rite, where a thousand kine are given as priestly wage.” The father of Upamaśravas I praised—
for him were sweet songs sung, songs that pleased as a hearth to the home-bound soul.

Take heed, O Upamaśravas, thou son, thou child of Mitrāthiti’s house:
it is I who lifted the name of thy sire in the rite.

If I held sway o’er deathless ones or over mortal men, yet would my generous lord remain among the living.

But none liveth beyond the will of the gods— not even he whose soul were counted a hundredfold.

And so have I turned my gaze from the one who once stood yoked beside me.