Can you pull in Leviathan with a hook
or tie his tongue down with a rope?

Who confronted Me, that I should repay him?
Everything under heaven belongs to Me.

His snorting flashes with light,
while his eyes are like the rays of dawn.

Can you put a cord through his nose
or pierce his jaw with a hook?

His pride is in his rows of scales,
closely sealed together.

His breath sets coals ablaze,
and flames pour out of his mouth.

He surveys everything that is haughty;
he is king over all the proud beasts.

His heart is as hard as a rock,
as hard as a lower millstone!

When Leviathan rises, the mighty are terrified;
they withdraw because of his thrashing.

Can you fill his hide with harpoons
or his head with fishing spears?

The sword that reaches him will have no effect,
nor will a spear, dart, or arrow.

No one is ferocious enough to rouse Leviathan;
who then can stand against Me?

Smoke billows from his nostrils
as from a boiling pot or burning reeds.

The folds of his flesh are joined together,
solid as metal and immovable.

I cannot be silent about his limbs,
his power, and his graceful proportions.

Flaming torches shoot from his mouth;
fiery sparks fly out!

Will traders bargain for him
or divide him among the merchants?

One scale is so close to another
that no air can pass between them.

Any hope of capturing him proves false.
Does a person not collapse at the very sight of him?

Who can open his jaws,
surrounded by those terrifying teeth?

Will he make a covenant with you
so that you can take him as a slave forever?

Strength resides in his neck,
and dismay dances before him.

They are joined to one another,
so closely connected they cannot be separated.

Can you play with him like a bird
or put him on a leash for your girls?

Who can strip off his outer covering?
Who can penetrate his double layer of armor?

Will he beg you for mercy
or speak softly to you?

Lay a hand on him.
You will remember the battle
and never repeat it!

He has no equal on earth—
a creature devoid of fear!

No arrow can make him flee;
slingstones become like stubble to him.

His undersides are jagged potsherds,
spreading the mud like a threshing sledge.

He makes the depths seethe like a cauldron;
he makes the sea like an ointment jar.

A club is regarded as stubble,
and he laughs at the sound of a javelin.

He leaves a shining wake behind him;
one would think the deep had gray hair!

He regards iron as straw,
and bronze as rotten wood.