They asked Soma with wonders; his juice flows out like rain, the purifier running. As it is pressed by poets, the invigorating draught marches to the one for whom the purifier poured, to be drunk.

Purified Soma, when you are diluted with the water your juice passes through the woollen fleece; cleansed by the sages, O exhilarating purified (Soma), be sweet-flavoured for Indra to drink.

Soma, thy juice when thou art blended with the streams, flows, Pavamana, through the long wool of the sheep. So, cleansed by sages. O best giver of delight, grow sweet for Indra, Pavamana! for his drink.