27. He reckons iron as straw, bronze as rotten wood.
28. The arrow does not make him flee, sling-stones become like stubble to him.
29. Clubs are reckoned as straw, he laughs at the rattle of a lance.
30. His undersides are like sharp potsherds. He sprawls on the mud like a threshing-sledge.
31. He makes the deep boil like a pot, he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.
32. He leaves a shining path behind him. One would think the deep to be grey-haired.