He is so cruel that no one is ready to go against him. Who then is able to keep his place before me?

Who ever went against me, and got the better of me? There is no one under heaven!

I will not keep quiet about the parts of his body, or about his power, and the strength of his frame.

Who has ever taken off his outer skin? who may come inside his inner coat of iron?

Who has made open the doors of his face? Fear is round about his teeth.

His back is made of lines of plates, joined tight together, one against the other, like a stamp.

One is so near to the other that no air may come between them.

They take a grip of one another; they are joined together, so that they may not be parted.

His sneezings give out flames, and his eyes are like the eyes of the dawn.

Out of his mouth go burning lights, and flames of fire are jumping up.

Smoke comes out of his nose, like a pot boiling on the fire.

His breath puts fire to coals, and a flame goes out of his mouth.

Strength is in his neck, and fear goes dancing before him.

The plates of his flesh are joined together, fixed, and not to be moved.

His heart is as strong as a stone, hard as the lower crushing-stone.

When he gets ready for the fight, the strong are overcome with fear.

The sword may come near him but is not able to go through him; the spear, or the arrow, or the sharp-pointed iron.

Iron is to him as dry grass, and brass as soft wood.

The arrow is not able to put him to flight: stones are no more to him than dry stems.

A thick stick is no better than a leaf of grass, and he makes sport of the onrush of the spear.

Under him are sharp edges of broken pots: as if he was pulling a grain-crushing instrument over the wet earth.

The deep is boiling like a pot of spices, and the sea like a perfume-vessel.

After him his way is shining, so that the deep seems white.

On earth there is not another like him, who is made without fear.

Everything which is high goes in fear of him; he is king over all the sons of pride.