The range of mountains `is' his pasture, And after every green thing he seeketh.
He doth laugh at the multitude of a city, The cries of an exactor he heareth not.
Is a Reem willing to serve thee? Doth he lodge by thy crib?
Lo, I pray thee, Behemoth, that I made with thee: Grass as an ox he eateth.
Brayeth a wild ass over tender grass? Loweth an ox over his provender?
and anything on which `any' of their carcase falleth is unclean (oven or double pots), it is broken down, unclean they `are', yea, unclean they are to you.