Thou smotest him and brokest his wings,
He stayed in the forests crying, ‘My wings!’
Thou lovedst also a lion, perfect in strength,
By sevens didst thou cut wounds in him.
Thou lovedst also a horse, glorious in war,
Harness, spur, and bit (?) thou laidest upon him,
Seven kaspu (49 miles) thou madest him gallop,
Distress and sweat thou causedst him,
To his mother Silili thou causedst bitter weeping.
Thou lovedst also a shepherd of the flock,