He mocketh at fear, and is not dismayed; Neither turneth he back from the sword.
She is hardened against her young ones, as if they were not hers: Though her labour be in vain, she is without fear;
What time she lifteth up herself on high, She scorneth the horse and his rider
He paweth in the valley, and rejoiceth in his strength: He goeth out to meet the armed men.
The quiver rattleth against him, The flashing spear and the javelin.
Upon earth there is not his like, That is made without fear.
The noise of the whip, and the noise of the rattling of wheels; and pransing horses, and jumping chariots;