Can you draw out Leviathan with a hook, restrain his tongue with a rope?
Can you put a cord through his nose, pierce his jaw with a barb?
Will he beg you at length or speak gentle words to you?
Will he make a pact with you so that you will take him as a permanent slave?
Can you play with him like a bird, put a leash on him for your girls?
Will merchants sell him; will they divide him among traders?
Can you fill his hide with darts, his head with a fishing spear?
Should you lay your hand on him, you would never remember the battle.
Such hopes would be delusional; surely the sight of him makes one stumble.
Nobody is fierce enough to rouse him; who then can stand before me?
Who opposes me that I must repay? Everything under heaven is mine.
I'm not awed by his limbs, his strength, and impressive form.
Who can remove his outer garment; who can come with a bridle for him?
Who can open the doors of his mouth, surrounded by frightening teeth?
His matching scales are his pride, closely locked and sealed.
One touches another; even air can't come between them.
Each clings to its pair; joined, they can't be separated.
His sneezes emit flashes of light; his eyes are like dawn's rays.
Shafts of fire shoot from his mouth; like fiery sparks they fly out.
Smoke pours from his nostrils like a boiling pot over reeds.
His breath lights coals; a flame shoots from his mouth.
Power resides in his neck; violence dances before him.
The folds of his flesh stick together; on him they are tough and unyielding.
His heart is solid like a rock, hard like a lower millstone.
The divine beings dread his rising; they withdraw before his thrashing.
The sword that touches him won't prevail; neither will the dart, spear, nor javelin.
He treats iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
Arrows can't make him flee; slingstones he turns to straw.
He treats a club like straw; he laughs at the lance's rattle.
His abdomen is like jagged pottery shards; its sharp edges leave a trail in the mud.
He causes the depths to churn like a boiling pot, stirs up the sea like a pot of scented oils,
leaves a bright wake behind him; the frothy deep seems white-haired.
None on earth can compare to him; he is made to be without fear.
He looks on all the proud; he is king over all proud beasts.