May Soma for the godly seat not crave the flood from the river. From the share of milk, from strong drink do not awake the vessel — the honey-drinking chest.

You are fed with water, Soma, like a river, for the banquet of the gods; with the juice of your filament you go to the honey-dropping receptacle, exhilarating, vigilant.

O Soma,-for the feast of Gods, river-like he hath swelled with surge, With the stalk's juice, exhilarating, resting not, into the vat that drops with meath.