27 He counts iron as straw,and bronze as rotten wood.
28 The arrow cannot make him flee;for him sling stones are turned to stubble.
29 Clubs are counted as stubble;he laughs at the rattle of javelins.
30 His underparts are like sharp potsherds;he spreads himself like a threshing sledge on the mire.
31 He makes the deep boil like a pot;he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
32 Behind him he leaves a shining wake;one would think the deep to be white-haired.
33 On earth there is not his like,a creature without fear.