Mbh 3.267.1c

Ye warriors possessed of the prowess of Indra, putting on your costly bows of handsome make, and taking up your costly bows and quivers, speed ye in pursuit of her, lest overpowered by threats or violence and losing her sense and the colour of her cheeks, she yields herself up to an undeserving wight, even as one poureth forth, from the sacrificial ladle, the sanctified oblation on a heap of ashes. O, see that the clarified butter is not poured into an unigniting fire of paddy chaff; that a garland of flowers is not thrown away in a cemetery. O, take care that the Soma juice of a sacrifice is not licked up by a dog through the carelessness of the officiating priests! O, let not the lily be rudely torn by a jackal roaming for its prey in the impenetrable forest. O, let no inferior wight touch with his lips the bright and beautiful face of your wife, fair as the beams of the moon and adorned with the finest nose and the handsomest eyes, like a dog licking clarified butter kept in the sacrificial pot! Do ye speed in this track and let not time steal a march on you.’