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29 He counts any weapon as stubble; he laughs at the shaking of a spear.

30 Broken clay vessels are under him; he carves his imprint upon the mire.

31 He makes the deep to boil like a pot; he makes the sea like a pot of ointment.

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29 A club seems to it but a piece of straw;(A)
    it laughs(B) at the rattling of the lance.
30 Its undersides are jagged potsherds,
    leaving a trail in the mud like a threshing sledge.(C)
31 It makes the depths churn like a boiling caldron(D)
    and stirs up the sea like a pot of ointment.(E)

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