Can you draw out the leviathan with a hook, or hold down his tongue with a cord?

Who has gone before Me that I should repay? All that is the heavens is Mine.

His sneezings flash forth light, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn.

Can you put a reed rope into his nose, or pierce his jaw with a thorn?

The rows of shields are his pride, shut up with a close seal;

His breath kindles coals, and a flame goes out of his mouth.

He beholds all high things; he is a king over all the sons of pride.

His heart is cast hard as a stone, even cast hard as a piece of a riding millstone.

The mighty are afraid from his rising; they are beside themselves from the crashing.

Can you fill his skin with barbed irons, or his head with fishing spears?

The sword overtakes him, but will not hold firm. The spear, the dart, and the javelin also.

None is so fierce as to dare to stir him up; who then is able to stand before Me?

Out of his nostrils goes smoke, as out of a boiling pot fired by reeds.

The folds of his flesh are joined together, cast firm on him; he cannot be moved.

I will not keep silent concerning his limbs, or his mighty strength, or the grace of his frame.

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

Shall your companions bargain over him? Shall they divide him among the merchants?

one is so near to another that no air can come between them;

Behold, his hope has been made false; will not one be cast down at the sight of him?

Who can open the doors to his face? Terror is round about his teeth.

Will he make a covenant with you? Will you take him for a servant for ever?

In his neck remains strength, and terror dances before him.

they are joined one to another, they clasp each other so that they can not be separated.

Will you play with him as with a bird? Or will you bind him for your maidens?

Who can take off the surface of his skin; who can come to him with his double bridle?

Will he multiply pleas for help to you? Will he speak soft words to you?

Lay your hand on him, think of the battle; you will never do it again.

On earth there is nothing like him, one made without fear.

An arrow cannot make him flee; slingstones are turned by him into stubble.

Points of potsherds are under him; he spreads sharp pointed marks on the mire.

He makes the deep boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

Darts are counted as straw; he laughs at the shaking of a javelin.

He makes a path to shine after him; one would think the deep to be gray-headed.

He counts iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.