Chapter 41

  Canst thou draw out leviathan with a fishhook? Or press down his tongue with a cord?  

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  Canst thou put a rope into his nose? Or pierce his jaw through with a hook?  

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  Will he make many supplications unto thee? Or will he speak soft words unto thee?  

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  Will he make a covenant with thee, That thou shouldest take him for a servant for ever?  

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  Wilt thou play with him as with a bird? Or wilt thou bind him for thy maidens?  

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  Will the bands [of fishermen] make traffic of him? Will they part him among the merchants?  

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  Canst thou fill his skin with barbed irons, Or his head with fish-spears?  

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  Lay thy hand upon him; Remember the battle, and do so no more.  

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  Behold, the hope of him is in vain: Will not one be cast down even at the sight of him?  

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  None is so fierce that he dare stir him up; Who then is he that can stand before me?  

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  Who hath first given unto me, that I should repay him? [Whatsoever is] under the whole heaven is mine.  

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  I will not keep silence concerning his limbs, Nor his mighty strength, nor his goodly frame.  

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  Who can strip off his outer garment? Who shall come within his jaws?  

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  Who can open the doors of his face? Round about his teeth is terror.  

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  [His] strong scales are [his] pride, Shut up together [as with] a close seal.  

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  One is so near to another, That no air can come between them.  

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  They are joined one to another; They stick together, so that they cannot be sundered.  

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  His sneezings flash forth light, And his eyes are like the eyelids of the morning.  

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  Out of his mouth go burning torches, And sparks of fire leap forth.  

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  Out of his nostrils a smoke goeth, As of a boiling pot and [burning] rushes.  

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  His breath kindleth coals, And a flame goeth forth from his mouth.  

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  In his neck abideth strength, And terror danceth before him.  

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  The flakes of his flesh are joined together: They are firm upon him; they cannot be moved.  

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  His heart is as firm as a stone; Yea, firm as the nether millstone.  

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  When he raiseth himself up, the mighty are afraid: By reason of consternation they are beside themselves.  

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  If one lay at him with the sword, it cannot avail; Nor the spear, the dart, nor the pointed shaft.  

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  He counteth iron as straw, [And] brass as rotten wood.  

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  The arrow cannot make him flee: Sling-stones are turned with him into stubble.  

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  Clubs are counted as stubble: He laugheth at the rushing of the javelin.  

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  His underparts are [like] sharp potsherds: He spreadeth [as it were] a threshing-wain upon the mire.  

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  He maketh the deep to boil like a pot: He maketh the sea like a pot of ointment.  

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  He maketh a path to shine after him; One would think the deep to be hoary.  

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  Upon earth there is not his like, That is made without fear.  

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  He beholdeth everything that is high: He is king over all the sons of pride.  

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