The range of the mountains is his pasture, And he searcheth after every green thing.
Behold now behemoth, Which I made with thee; He eateth grass as an ox.
And every thing whereupon any part of their carcase falleth shall be unclean; whether it be oven, or ranges for pots, they shall be broken down: for they are unclean, and shall be unclean unto you.
He scorneth the multitude of the city, Neither regardeth he the crying of the driver.
Will the unicorn be willing to serve thee, Or abide by thy crib?
Doth the wild ass bray when he hath grass? Or loweth the ox over his fodder?