Chapter 41

It is in mercy that I forbear to make him a plague for mankind. But indeed, there is no resisting me,

nor can any deserve my thanks by lending me the aid I lacked; nothing on earth but is at my disposal.

I give him no quarter, for all his boastful, all his flattering words.

Who can strip the skin of him, who can penetrate into the cavern of his mouth,

forcing the gates that guard it, the terrors of his teeth?

The body of him is like shields of cast metal, scale pressing on scale,

so close to one another as to leave no vent between;

so well joined that nothing will part them.

Let him but sneeze, the fire flashes out; let him open his eyes, it is like the glimmer of dawn;

flames come from his jaws, bright as a burning torch,

smoke from his nostrils, thick as the fumes of a seething pot;

his very breath will set coals aflame, such fire issues from that mouth.

What strength dwells in that neck of his, what terrors play about him!

Firm-set are the folds of his flesh, unyielding though a thunder-bolt should strike them;

firm-set, too, is the heart of him, firm as ever stone was, or smith’s anvil.

Rises he up, angels themselves are afraid, and take sanctuary in their dread.

Sword-thrust, nor spear, nor breast-plate can hold their own against him;

to him, steel is but chaff, bronze but touch-wood,

nor fears he the archer; sling-stones he counts as straw,

as straw the hammer-blow, laughs at the brandished spear.

Sunlight flashes beneath him as he goes, a path of gold through the slime;

he makes the deep sea boil like a pot where ointment simmers;

how it shines in his wake, as though ocean itself had grown hoary with age!

He has not his like among the strong things of earth, that fearless nature,

that heaven-confronting eye. Over all the pride of earth he reigns supreme.