Being urged, being driven, the drop doth spring forth in full stream, breaking strongholds asunder with its might.

Pressed for Indra and Vāyu, for Varuṇa and the storm-born Maruts, for Viṣṇu doth Soma hasten with force.

The bull, ruled by bulls, they press with stone; with cunning hands they draw forth its milk.

It becometh the steed for Trita to tend, the draught of rapture for Indra; the tawny one is smeared with forms of milk.

They, whose mother is Pr̥śni, do milk their beloved gift— that which is dearest unto them—unto the upper face of truth.

These steadfast songs, in one flow, rush toward him; and lowing aloud, he maketh the milk kine to low in answer.