Hymn to Ixcoçauhqui.

In the Hall of Flames let me not put to shame my ancestors; descending there, let me not put you to shame.

I fasten a rope to the sacred tree, I twist it in eight folds, that by it I, a magician, may descend to the magical house.

Begin your song in the Hall of Flames; begin your song in the Hall of Flames; why does the magician not come forth? Why does he not rise up?

Let his subjects assist in the Hall of Flames; he appears, he appears, let his subjects assist.

Let the servants never cease the song in the Hall of Flames; let them rejoice greatly, let them dance wonderfully.

Call ye for the woman with abundant hair, whose care is the mist and the rain, call ye for her.