Job 41
1 Canst thou draw out the Crocodile with a fish-hook? Or, with a cord, canst thou fasten down his tongue?
Kan du trække Krokodillen op med Krog og binde dens Tunge med Snøre?
2 Wilt thou put a rush-cord on his nose? or, with a thorn, wilt thou pierce his jaw?
Kan du mon stikke et Siv i dens Snude, bore en Krog igennem dens Kæber?
3 Will he multiply unto thee supplications, or will he speak unto thee softly?
Mon den vil trygle dig længe og give dig gode Ord?
4 Will he solemnise a covenant with thee? Wilt thou take him for a life-long servant?
Mon den vil indgå en Pagt med dig, så du får den til Træl for evigt?
5 Wilt thou sport with him, as with a little bird? Or wilt thou bind him, for thy maidens?
Han du mon lege med den som en Fugl og tøjre den for dine Pigebørn?
6 Shall the companions bargain over him? or will they part him among the traders?
Falbyder Fiskerlauget den og stykker den ud mellem Sælgerne?
7 Wilt thou fill, with darts, his skin? or, with fish-spears, his head?
Mon du kan spække dens Hud med Kroge og med Harpuner dens Hoved?
8 Lay thou upon him thy hand, remember the battle—no more!
Læg dog engang din Hånd på den! Du vil huske den Kamp og gør det ej mer.
9 Lo! any hope of him, hath been found deceptive, Even at the sight of him, shall not one be overwhelmed?
Det Håb vilde blive til Skamme, alene ved Synet lå du der.
10 None so bold, that he will rouse him! Who then is he that, before me, can stand?
Ingen drister sig til at tirre den, hvem holder Stand imod den?
11 Who hath forestalled me, that I may repay him? Under all the heavens, mine it is!
Hvem møder den og slipper fra det hvem under hele Himlen?
12 I will not pass by in silence his parts, or the matter of strength, or the grace of his armour.
Jeg tier ej om dens Lemmer, hvor stærk den er, hvor smukt den er skabt.
13 Who hath removed his outer garment, through his double row of teeth, who would enter?
Hvem har trukket dens Klædning af, trængt ind i dens dobbelte Panser?
14 The doors of his face, who hath opened? The circles of his teeth, are a terror!
Hvem har åbnet dens Ansigts Døre? Rundt om dens Tænder er Rædsel.
15 A pride, are his arched sides, closed up, with a firm seal;
Dens Ryg er Reder af Skjolde, dens Bryst er et Segl af Sten;
16 One to another, they join, and, air, cannot enter between them;
de sidder tæt ved hverandre, Luft kommer ikke ind derimellem;
17 Each to its fellow, they cleave, they grasp each other, and cannot be parted;
de hænger fast ved hverandre, uadskilleligt griber de ind i hverandre.
18 His sneezings, flash forth light, and, his eyes, are like the eyelashes of the dawn;
Dens Nysen fremkalder strålende Lys, som Morgenrødens Øjenlåg er dens Øjne.
19 Out of his mouth, torches dart forth, sparks of fire, escape;
Ud af dens Gab farer Fakler, Ildgnister spruder der frem.
20 Out of his nostrils, proceedeth smoke, like a blown pot and rushes;
Em står ud af dens Næsebor som af en ophedet, kogende Kedel.
21 His breath, setteth coals ablaze, and, a flame, out of his mouth, proceedeth;
Dens Ånde tænder som glødende Kul, Luer står ud af dens Gab.
22 In his neck, lodgeth strength, and, before him, danceth dismay;
Styrken bor på dens Hals, og Angsten hopper foran den.
23 The dewlaps of his flesh, cleave together, hardened upon him, they cannot be moved;
Tæt sidder Kødets Knuder, som støbt til Kroppen; de rokkes ikke;
24 His heart, is hardened like a stone, yea hardened, like the nether millstone;
fast som Sten er dens Hjerte støbt, fast som den nederste Møllesten.
25 At his rising up, mighty men are afraid, by reason of terror, they are beside themselves:
Når den rejser sig, gyser Helte, fra Sans og Samling går de af Skræk.
26 As for him that assaileth him, the sword availeth not, spear, dart, or coat of mail:
Angriberens Sværd holder ikke Stand, ej Kastevåben, Spyd eller Pil.
27 He counteth iron as broken straw, and bronze as rotten wood:
Jern regner den kun for Halm og Kobber for trøsket Træ;
28 The arrow, will not make him flee, Into chaff, are sling-stones changed by him:
Buens Søn slår den ikke på Flugt, Slyngens Sten bliver Strå for den,
29 As a straw, is a club accounted, and he laugheth at the whir of the javelin;
Stridskøllen regnes for Rør, den ler ad det svirrende Spyd.
30 His underparts, are points of potsherd, a pointed threshing roller spreadeth out upon the slime:
På Bugen er der skarpe Rande, dens Spor i Dyndet er som Tærskeslædens;
31 He causeth to boil, as a cauldron, the raging deep, the sea, he maketh like a brewing vessel:
Dybet får den i Kog som en Gryde, en Salvekedel gør den af Floden;
32 After him, he lighteth up a path, one might think the resounding deep to be hoary!
bag den er der en lysende Sti, Dybet synes som Sølverhår.
33 There is not—upon the dust—his like, that hath been made to be without fear;
Dens Lige findes ikke på Jord, den er skabt til ikke at frygte.
34 Every thing lofty, he beholdeth, he, is king over all ravenous beasts.
Alt, hvad højt er, ræddes for den, den er Konge over alle stolte Dyr.
