There on the bank those Vipers lie, thrice-seven, having cast their skins: Now we with their discarded sloughs bind close and cover up the eyes of the malicious highway thief.
Far let her go, cutting her way, brandishing, as it were, a club: Diverted be the new-born's mind: ne'er are the wicked prosperous.
Not many have had power enough; the feeble ones have not prevailed, Like scattered fragments of a reed: ne'er are the wicked prosperous.
Go forward, feet, press quickly on, bring to the house of him who pays. Unconquered and unplundered, let Indrānf, foremost, lead the way.
