O distant ones who have reached the high breast, the son is not of the other; the worn-out cord is not for women, the choice was not in the womb’s month.

(Soma) the kinsman (of the gods) is enveloped in the investing filter like a child in the arms of its protecting parents; he hastens like a gallant to a mistress, like a bridegroom (to the bride) to sit upon his station (the pitcher).

The Friend hath wrapped him in his robe, as in his parents arms, a son. He went, as lover to a dame, to take his station suitor-like.