The Lord asks Job whether he can draw out Leviathan with a fishhook or press down his tongue with a cord; whether he can put a rope in his nose or pierce his jaw with a hook. Will he make many pleas to you? Will he make a covenant with you to take him as your servant forever? Will you play with him as with a bird, or put him on a leash for your girls? Will traders bargain over him? The hope of capturing him is false: even at the sight of him one is laid low (vv. 1-9).
No one is so fierce that he can stir him up, and so the Lord concludes: who then can stand before me? Who has first given to me, that I should repay him? Everything under the whole heaven is mine (vv. 10-11). Then he describes Leviathan: his limbs, his great strength and his armor. Who can open the doors of his face? Around his teeth is terror. His back is made of rows of shields, shut up closely as with a seal, so near each other that no air can come between (vv. 12-17).
His sneezings flash forth light, and his eyes are like the eyelids of the dawn. Out of his mouth go flaming torches; sparks of fire leap forth. Out of his nostrils comes smoke as from a boiling pot. His breath kindles coals. In his neck abides strength, and terror dances before him. His heart is hard as stone, hard as the lower millstone. When he raises himself up, the mighty are afraid; sword, spear, dart and javelin do not avail against him, and he laughs at the rattle of the javelin. He makes the deep boil like a pot and leaves a shining wake behind him; one would think the deep to be white-haired (vv. 18-32). On earth there is nothing like him, a creature without fear. He sees everything that is high and is king over all the sons of pride (vv. 33-34).