Clubs are counted as chaff; it laughs at the rattle of javelins.
Its underparts are like sharp potsherds; it spreads itself like a threshing sledge on the mire.
It makes the deep boil like a pot; it makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
It leaves a shining wake behind it; one would think the deep to be white-haired.
On earth it has no equal, a creature without fear.
It surveys everything that is lofty; it is king over all that are proud."