For, he, woundeth that he may bind up, He smiteth through, that, his own hands, may heal.

Oh! would I not, upon my shoulder, lift it, or bind it as a crown upon me;

Canst thou bind the fetters of the Pleiades? Or, the bands of Orion, canst thou unloose?

Canst thou bind the wild-ox, so that - with the ridge - shall run his cord? Or will he harrow the furrows after thee?

Hide them in the dust all together, Their faces, bind thou in darkness;

Wilt thou sport with him, as with a little bird? Or wilt thou bind him, for thy maidens?