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 pros-
perous.
Go forward, feet, press quickly on, bring to the house of him
who pays.
Unconquered and unplundered, let Indrānf, foremost, lead the
way.
