Stay now, O generator of riches; do not go far — the cows of Soma are indeed watching you. Father and son pour forth the clarified butter in the ritual, O Indra, like Shachi’s beloved one rejoicing.

Tarry a while contentedly, Maghavan (at our rite); go not away; for I offer to you (the libation) of the copiously-effused Soma; powerful Indra, I lay hold of the skirts (of your robe) with sweet-flavoured commendations, as a son (clings to the garment) of a father.

Stay still, O Maghavan, advance no farther. a draught of well-pressed Soma will I give thee. With sweetest song I grasp, O Mighty Indra, thy garment's hem as a child grasps his father's.